Many Thanks
by Madm05
Summary: James Potter would never forget the first time he met Hermione Granger. Nor would he forget just how much he owed her for all she had done for him, his family, his world, and his future. HHr, through the evolving eyes of James Potter. HHr/JPLE
1. Selfish

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of other characters in this story.

Many Thanks

Part One: Selfish

James Potter would always remember the first time he saw Hermione Granger.

It was the third week of his fifth year. He and Sirius had created a slime that changed colors to blend in with whatever it touched, and came up with the idea of pouring the slime all through the dungeons in hopes that Snivellus (or any Slytherin really, he wasn't picky) would slip and take a tumble and hopefully ruin their books or summer work. James liked to think of it as a warm welcome for their cold-blooded _friends_. It was an excellent way to start the year.

Having convinced Remus and Peter to join them, they were huddled in one of the corridors, a bucket of slime in hand. They examined the Marauder's Map, carefully planning out their route so they wouldn't be caught in their own trap when they heard it.

The wind—they would later question how it was possible for there to be wind in the dungeons—howled furiously just around the corner. Gripping some of the more uneven stones in the wall, James and Sirius looked around the corner while Remus gathered their supplies and Peter cowered. There was a blinding light as a girl appeared. Then came a dreadful calm. The wind was gone, and the girl wilted, falling silently to the ground.

"Peter, go get Dumbledore," James commanded, taking charge. He approached the girl slowly, Sirius and Remus behind him while Peter scurried away. As he stepped closer, he could hear her muttering to herself.

"Get a grip, Granger," she mumbled. "He needs you. You got… to move." She groaned as she rolled onto her side. The girl managed to push herself up a little only for her hand to slip in what looked like blood, and crashed back on the stone floor.

"Hey there, take it easy," James said softly, gently lifting her up and pulling her against him. It was more serious than he had thought. This was no prank gone wrong. She was _bleeding_. She looked like she had been fighting for her life.

For the first time, their eyes met. Her glassy brown eyes stared into his blue. A small smile made its way onto her face. "Harry," she breathed. "I knew you'd come, I knew it."

Behind them Sirius whispered, "Harry? Who's that?"

"I'm so, so sorry Harry. I tried, but they… they…" She tried to lift her head. "I couldn't beat them. There were too many. I'm sorry." Her head fell back. "I'm sorry," she murmured again, eyes closing.

"Stay with me," James said quickly, lightly tapping her cheek. "Come on now, open those eyes. I'll have you know I'm exceedingly popular, and it would damage my reputation immensely if you just fell asleep on me. You need to stay awake, uh, Granger. You're name is Granger, right?"

He looked over her, trying to determine what he could do to help her. Not much. While he could transfigure various limbs into just about anything, healing had never been his forte. She was unnaturally thin, as if she had not had a decent meal in months. Her skin was terribly pale, accentuating the shadows under her eyes. Her robes were in bloody tatters, the backpack she wore in the same condition, and one hand tightly gripped a battered wand. Her other arm was set at an odd angle, probably broken. There was a deep, jagged gash that spliced her left eyebrow and ended dangerously close to her eye.

James grabbed his handkerchief and applied pressure to the wound, hoping to staunch the blood flow until help arrived. "Hey now, come on, I asked you a question. You're Granger, yeah?"

"I don't think she can hear you Prongs," Remus said softly. Sirius was unusually silent beside him.

"She'll be fine," James said. He'd never seen anyone die, and that wasn't going to change. He certainly wasn't going to let this witch slip into the afterlife on his watch. He looked back at her. Logically, he knew she was unconscious, but with her ashen face and the puddle of blood around her, she looked dead. "Remus, go get Madame Pomfrey. Sirius, you go find out what's taking Dumbledore and Peter so long." Neither moved, both still staring at the girl. "Now!" He snapped. Surprised, they took off.

"I'm going to move your arm, okay? I'm going to try and see if there is anything I can do for you." He was babbling, not that he would admit it. Privately, he was sure that moving her arm was something he should _not_ do, but she was bleeding profusely, and he was equally sure that the blood was coming from her back. If he could just move the rucksack she wore, he could have a better look, and to do that, he needed to move her arm.

Then he saw it, a photograph, clutched desperately in hand as though it was her lifeline.

Slowly, carefully, James took the picture and slipped it into his pocket, intending to return it later. It was clearly precious to her, and he didn't want it to get lost during her inevitable trip to the Hospital Wing. She was sure to lose it—the arm was broken, and her grip was sure to loosen.

The thunderous sound of several people running drew his attention. Everyone, his friends, the headmaster, and Madame Pomfrey were all sprinting down the hall, Dumbledore ahead of them all. The old man descended on them with frightening speed, his wand deftly flicking and swishing.

"We need to get her to the Hospital Wing immediately," Dumbledore said firmly. Madame Pomfrey, still panting, conjured a stretcher on the spot.

"Thank you for your help, all of you," he said briskly, addressing his students. "I believe your quick thinking has earned you all fifty House points each. You may return to your common room for now, though I will likely speak with you on the matter later, when I am less pressed for time. If you please, Mr. Potter," he said, smoothly removing the strange witch from James' arms and placed her on the stretcher.

In moments, they were gone.

For several seconds, as Dumbledore, Pomfrey, and the girl disappeared down the hallways, James sat in a stunned silence. He looked at his hands. They were bloody. He knew that his friends were talking, but all he could hear was steady hum. Suddenly there were hands on his arms, pulling him to his feet. Sirius and Remus. Peter was holding their forgotten supplies.

They walked away, the other three talking to him, but James couldn't concentrate on their words. Who was that girl? What happened to her? How did she end up in the dungeons? Who was this Harry fellow? Was he responsible for her current state? James would give this Harry a good thrashing if he was—you don't hit a witch, his mother used to tell him. But no…she'd been relieved when she thought she was talking to Harry. Not him, then. So who?

"Here James, you look like you need it," Remus was saying. James looked up to find himself in front of the Prefects Bathroom. "We'll make sure no one bothers you while you, ah, clean up. Password is Fortuna." The door swung open and James stumbled in, leaving his friends behind. This was not the first time he had used the Prefects Bathroom, having convinced Moony to give him Best Mate's Privileges. This was, however, the first time he didn't revel in it.

Instead he absently washed his hands. Sitting heavily on the floor, he remembered the picture. He pulled it out of his pocket to see this treasure that the witch coveted so. If he were less manly, he might have fainted.

There were three teens, more children really. One was a redheaded boy with a wry smile. The second was the witch he'd found in the dungeons. She smiled widely, revealing large front teeth that he hadn't noticed when she was talking earlier. It was the third person, the boy in the middle that amazed him. The boy—grinning like he'd just been presented with the latest broom model—looked just like him save for two things; this boy had green eyes (Lily's eyes, he could tell) and a scar on his forehead. With shaking hands, James turned the picture over to see if there was anything written on the back. There was. In a neat script:

_Hermione Jane Granger, Harry James Potter, and Ronald Bilius Weasley_

_Spring of '94, 3rd year_

The boy was his son. And this girl, this Hermione, knew him. Knows him. She had called James by his son's name, having confused them. James grinned and felt more alive than he had in a long time. Not even the thought of making Snivellus slip in slime had made him so cheerful.

His son. Lily's son. His and Lily's son. He really was going to win the Lovely Lily. He was going to do more than that, he was going to have a family with her. A son. Maybe there were others, too, that didn't make it into the picture. Maybe he had a dozen kids. Well, not that many, James thought with a smile. He imagined a grandiose house, a pregnant Lily standing in the doorway, three or four children running around the yard, and dozens of fans following him, praising his awe-inspiring Quidditch skills.

Then he noticed the smear of blood on the corner, and again remembered Hermione Granger, the witch who knew his son from the future. The witch laying half-dead in the hospital wing. His smile vanished. James wiped the blood away with a single swipe of his thumb. He tucked the picture back into his pocket and stood to wash his hands again.

His thoughts were racing again. Should he tell his friends about the time traveler? His first instinct was run out there and wave the picture under there noses and tell them about the dozen kids he was going to have with Lily. His second instinct was to guard his little secret jealously. They'd only laugh, anyways. They always laughed when he talked about Lily anymore. Not to mention Hermione was in a precarious situation. Anyone could overhear them, and if word got back to Voldemort, the self-proclaimed Dark Lord, she would be in danger.

James was determined to be a good father and send Hermione back to his son. After all, if his son was popular with the ladies, that only reflected well on him, didn't it? He doubted she was his son's type though, if Harry was anything like him. She was nice, but she just wasn't pretty enough, not like Lily. Nothing against Hermione, he thought, but only the best for his son. Maybe she and the redhead could get together.

Drying his hands with a quick spell, James strolled casually into the corridor where his friends were waiting. They were shocked to see him, clearly expecting him to take a bath. He smiled and led the way back to the common room, and managed to slip in unnoticed by the other Gryffindors. They asked him about his sudden mood change when they were safely ensconced in their dorm, but he simply grinned in reply, and changed out of his ruined robes.

Later, when he was certain they were asleep, he took the photograph out of the pocket he had tucked it in earlier, and slid it under his pillow.

————

The following morning the Marauders were summoned to the Headmaster's office before breakfast, where they gave their account of what happened.

"Who is she, Professor?" Sirius asked when they finished.

"Her name is Hermione Granger," Dumbledore began. "I am afraid that hers is sad tale. It seems she is a victim of the escalating war. The Dark Lord Voldemort has left her without a home and she sought refuge here. Unfortunately, she made a few errors when enchanting her portkey, thus her unpleasant arrival.

"I trust that you will all be discrete. Miss Granger has suffered a terrible loss, and it would be most unseemly if anyone were to use this information against her. I am sure that you four will keep this to yourselves," he concluded.

The other three looked grim, but James felt the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. He lightly touched he picture he put in his pocket that morning. Voldemort, indeed! The git was probably long since dead in her time. Now he was merely a convenient excuse. He artfully ignored her condition when she arrived.

"Is there something you would like to add, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore inquired, his blue eyes sharp.

"No Sir," James replied. "I just wanted to know when she'll be leaving the hospital wing." He congratulated himself on a nice cover-up.

"She will be well enough to join classes tomorrow morning, since most of her wounds were superficial. I will be announcing her arrival tonight at dinner—I trust you will keep your silence until then. You may go to your classes now."

They left, three whispering and James just following with his secretive smile.

True enough, at dinner that night Dumbledore announced a new student would be joining the seventh years the following day. James was a little sad that she was ahead of him, since they wouldn't be sharing classes, but he figured it was just as well. He didn't want to embarrass the poor girl by showing her up in every class.

He was dismayed to find his fears were unfounded. The next morning, Hermione slipped into the Great Hall, unnoticed for the most part. She sat in an unoccupied space at the Gryffindor table, book in hand. She looked fine, but for the scar just over her eye, splicing her eyebrow in two. By that evening, rumors of her genius were circulating. She had answered every question correctly and performed every spell perfectly on the first try. James was sure it was because she was from the future and thus had a more advanced schedule.

Subtlety was not something she was very good at, either. By the end of the week he heard she'd been invited to the Slug Club parties. She was Slughorn's pet and McGonagall's little darling. She had won nearly seventy points by herself for Gryffindor. Teachers praised her in-depth answers. Students exalted her prowess with a wand. With in a month, she had begun to 'Hold Court', as the younger students called it, in the library on Sundays. She freely offered her help to anyone who wanted to do better on an essay or couldn't quite master a spell. James usually charged at least a galleon to look over someone's work. Now she was making him look bad.

James heard from Sirius, who'd heard from his latest girlfriend, a sixth year, that she'd even cast a corporeal Patronus in a Defense class. The story was that the professor had a boggart for a pop quiz, which turned into a Lethifold. Hermione had walked in to deliver a message and produced a Patronus on the spot to 'protect' her fellow student. James was more inclined to believe she was just showing off. If she was hoping to blend in, she had failed miserably.

And not once had she even looked at him, let alone thanked him for saving her life. It was enough to make him sick. He didn't like her anymore, whether she was his son's friend or not. He'd even told his friends that she was just a stuck up snob who was ungrateful to the point of being rude.

A week later, he was eating his words. A package arrived for Remus one morning before breakfast in the dorms. Inside were seven small potion bottles and a short note.

_Mister Moony, _

_I understand you have a furry little problem. Inside I have enclosed a potion that will relieve some of the more undesirable symptoms. One dose must be taken once a day for the next week. I have provided the exact amount needed. _

_Sincerely,_

_Custos_

James immediately recognized the handwriting as Hermione Granger's. It was on the back of the photo, which he looked at whenever he had a few private moments. He liked knowing his future.

"Go for it Moony! What's life without a little risk, eh? I think it will really help."

The others were more reluctant about this Custos, but James, knowing she was the time traveling Hermione Granger, was all for it. It took most of the day, but in the end he persuaded Remus to try the potion, though he complained about the taste. A week later, they were amazed at the results, when Remus the Werewolf scrawled a message on the floor of the Shrieking Shack that he was in control. The following morning, he reported that his body didn't ache as much as it usually did. Custos, the four decided, was a godsend.

Feeling more secure in his life than he ever had, he relaxed more. James even eased up on his pursuit of the Lovely Lily. Moony was in control in a way. Sirius was at his best, devising one genius prank after another. Peter was actually doing better in his classes, courtesy of a tutor he wouldn't name. And James, well, his life with Lily was set in stone, as evidenced by the photograph he carried with him everywhere. Everything was as it should be, and perfectly normal.

Not that Hermione Granger didn't do odd things, though. It was rumored that in fit of rage (he'd heard, but wasn't sure if he believed, that she had asked some Ravenclaw out and was turned down) that she had burned the old Vanishing Cabinet to a crisp. The damage was irreparable. People began to stay away from her after that.

It really bothered him that sometimes she disappeared. Completely. He couldn't even find her on the Map. More disturbingly, when she was gone, Dumbledore was sometimes gone too. One time he had been scanning the Map when she and Dumbledore appeared in the girls' bathroom on the second floor. When he'd asked Moaning Myrtle about it, she'd giggled, and said all she heard was Dumbledore hissing something. When she'd gone to see, they were gone. Myrtle had left, trying to find a few answers of her own. When she returned, the two were leaving her bathroom, both looking worse for the wear, and carrying what looked like tusks belonging to a small elephant.

Another time they both suddenly appeared as if out of nowhere on the seventh floor. Later, during his ongoing investigation, James asked the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy if he saw anything, but the man exclaimed that he was too busy trying to teach trolls ballet to pay attention to the goings on in the hallway.

She had unusual eating habits, too. She rarely ate breakfast, though she would occasionally sit at the table reading a book. Lunch was neglected altogether—she didn't even bother sitting in the hall. Dinner was interesting. She was there every night, but never ate very much as best he could tell (and he had developed the habit of watching her, so he would know). There were rumors that she had some sort of Muggle eating disorder, but from what James had seen, she ate whatever she wanted whenever she pleased, which just wasn't often. It was almost as if she were _unused_ to eating.

It was a week before Christmas break before James actually spoke with Hermione Granger. She was sitting in a forgotten corner of the library, hunched over a roll of parchment. She wasn't working, however. She was sitting there, staring blankly at the parchment, her head in her hands. She looked miserable. It bothered James that one of his future son's hangers-on was so upset. He decided he would cheer her up.

"It's Granger, isn't it?" He asked casually, sauntering over to her table.

"As if you were not aware of that fact prior to this meeting," she said coldly, sitting up stiffly in her chair. James stood in shock. Shouldn't this girl be trying to get in his good graces? "What do you want?" She demanded, the chilly tone never leaving her voice.

He bit down on a sharp retort about showing a little gratitude to the one who saved her sorry life. He was really becoming frustrated with her. Surely, if she was one of his son's _ladies in waiting_, she would show him more respect! "I want to know why you look so sad. Is that bad of me?"

"You're a git," she replied calmly. "Of course it's bad. What ever reason you've come up with to explain your concern is entirely selfish, I'm sure. Please leave."

Who did this witch think she was, anyways? It wasn't like she was pretty, with that hideous bushy hair, and that horrible scar on her face, splitting her eyebrow in two. He thought she was supposed to be smart. Didn't she realize he was doing her a favor? He definitely wasn't going to put in a good word for her with Harry when the time came. Briefly, he wondered if his future counterpart had done something that would make her hate him so, but decided that it wasn't the time to be distracted. This was the first time he'd actually gotten to speak with her, and if he was going to learn more about his son, then he needed to be patient. "I am not a git," James said through gritted teeth.

"Yes, actually, you are. You purposely pull malicious pranks on people who have done nothing to you for the sole reason of your own entertainment. Those are not the acts of a good person, but rather, the acts of a _contemptible_ person. Git, by definition, means a contemptible person. Using deductive reasoning, you are, therefore, a git."

James stared at her. For a moment, he wondered if she was right. Then his voice of reason kicked in and reminded him that this girl was nothing more than a walking, talking, futuristic encyclopedia. He sneered at her. "Merlin, no wonder you haven't got any friends. You're a nightmare!" Her response was most unexpected.

At first he'd thought she was crying, the way her shoulders were shaking, but then he heard her chuckling. The chuckling evolved into full-blown laughter and before he knew it, there were tears of mirth in her eyes. He'd just insulted her, and she was laughing. "I needed that," she gasped, still smiling widely. "You," she laughed again. "You sounded just like…" Harry, James wondered? "Ron!"

"Ron," he mumbled with a scowl. He didn't want to sound like Ron. He wanted her to say Harry. He wanted his son to be like him.

Hermione's expression lost some of its joy. "Yeah, Ron. He was a friend of mine."

"Your best friend?" James asked politely. Perhaps, if he could relax her, she'd start talking about Harry.

"No, a boy named Harry was my best friend," she replied softly. James looked up at her words. She was staring intently at the parchment in front of her.

"Tell me about him," James said. He congratulated himself on keeping his eagerness out of his voice.

"What?"

"Tell me about this Harry of yours," James said, pulling out the chair across from her. "You obviously miss him, so talk. It might make you feel better. Tell me what you like most abut him." This was an excellent opportunity to learn about his future.

Hermione looked out of her depth for a moment before she dazedly replied, "I like Harry the most!" She flushed in embarrassment. "I mean, I just like who he is as a person. He's very considerate, in his own way. He's more a man of action, you see, and he doesn't express himself well with words. But he does things, nice things, so I know—" She frowned suddenly. "What do you care?" She demanded hotly.

James frowned in reply. "I'm trying to be nice," he ground out. She was making this much more difficult than it really needed to be.

"I've gathered that, but _why_ are you being nice? What's in it for you?"

"Nothing," he lied easily. "I just want to help you, but you're being a ridiculously obstinate!"

Hermione leaned forward, her eyes intense. "Do you know what your problem is? You don't know whether you want to be a nice guy, or a prat. You can't be both. Your indecisiveness is most vexing. You need to choose whether you want to be the sort of man people can depend on, or the fellow people will go to for a laugh and nothing else. I can tell you that Lily deserves the former, not the latter.

"And do you know what else? You shouldn't expect people to just change to suit you. If you care for someone, if you truly love them, you should be willing to change for _them_." With a harsh flick of her wand, her books and other supplies flew into her school bag. "Ponder that."

He sat in stunned silence until she stood. "You never told me why you were sad," he said.

Hermione looked at him, her eyes empty. "I lost something very precious to me," she said softly. "A picture of me and my friends. It was a reminder of happier times. I think I lost it before I… left my old home." Without another word, she turned and left. James watched her go, unable to follow her. Eventually he pulled himself out of his reverie, and set off to the common room. He had some thinking to do, about Hermione Granger, Lily Evans, himself, and his future.

He felt a little guilty about the picture. Technically, he _had_ stolen it from her. He knew he should give it back to her, but he couldn't bring himself to relinquish the photo. It was a link to his future. He needed it, he told himself, and she didn't. All it was to her was a reminder of an old life she couldn't get back. It would be painful for her to look at, he argued, never mind that she claimed the lost picture was the reason for her sadness.

Then there was Lily. James supposed Hermione was right about that. Lily wasn't just playing hard to get, she really didn't like some of the things he did. She didn't mind some of his pranks—she even said some of them were funny—but Lily didn't like it when people got hurt, and had told him there was a difference between embarrassment and humiliation.

Which brought him to himself. If Lily deserved better, he needed to be better. Hermione was quite hostile towards him. He wondered why. What happened in the future that made her dislike him so? He couldn't imagine he would ever hurt the Lovely Lily. James decided to worry about that later. He needed to concentrate on the present.

He needed to change. He needed to stop pulling so many pranks, especially when he knew they were going to end up hurting people. He needed to focus more on his studies. His dreams of becoming a Quidditch star were fine, but the odds were against him. He needed a fallback career, at the very least.

More, if he wanted his relationship with Lily to be as everlasting as he liked to dream it would be, he would have to learn more about her as a person. Sure, James knew she was beautiful and smart and, for some unfathomable reason actually defended Snivellus, but there was more to her than that. To be the man she deserved, he knew he was going to have to get to know her better so that he could be that man.

The following day, he nearly went up to Granger and thanked her for giving him the telling-off he needed, but his boyish pride wouldn't allow him.

________

A/N: This is part one of four. Yes, it is HHr, even if it doesn't look like it right now. The Harmony goodness is mostly subtext right now. Give it time, it will happen. This particular story was inspired by a comment I read a while ago that Lily would prefer Hermione for Harry and James would prefer Ginny. I wanted to write a story where James (unlikable as he is right now), grows into a man who values the mind and soul over the body and thus would prefer Hermione over Ginny for his son.

About Dumbledore, it is shown in the sixth book that he understands Parseltongue, and in the seventh book, that Ron could mimic it. Therefore, my Dumbledore can also mimic it. I don't think he would be able to communicate with snakes, but I believe he could open the Chamber.

Also, I know, I'm horrible. I should be working on _Time, Interrupted_, but I think I've got a bit of burnout on that story. I have everything planned out, but the words aren't flowing. I figured a short break to do this story, and I should be able to get back on track.

One final note: Hermione's scar means nothing. I just wanted a physical indication that she is not the same person as the Hermione who has yet to be born. This one is battle scarred, you could say. It's purely symbolic.

_Custos_—guardian, custodian, protector, etc.


	2. Selfless

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of other characters in this story.

Warning: Okay, you had to know this was coming. Really. Since when do I do anything that doesn't involve at least a little tragedy? But in all honesty, it has to happen.

Many Thanks

Part Two: Selfless

James Potter felt disconnected. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be, how his future was supposed to unfold. He, like nearly everyone else, was kneeling in the Three Broomsticks. Also like everyone else, he watched the scene before him in horror.

It had been months since his conversation with Hermione in the library and, true to his word, he had been working towards being a better man. Pulling fewer pranks and studying more was not as fun, but it had benefits.

Surprisingly, James found he didn't mind it, liked it even. He liked the rush of satisfaction he felt with himself when he helped one of the younger students. He liked the nods of approval from his teachers. It wasn't as fun, but it was more fulfilling. He truly liked the man he was becoming. James felt as if one day there would be people who would be proud to say they knew him, and not bitterly think of him a bully.

Lily was paying more attention to him as well. At first she gave him strange looks, but eventually her confusion turned to a curious sort of approval. They talked occasionally, and found they got along quite well. They were actually sort-of friends now. Well, they talked without her shouting about his immaturity. Better, she smiled a few times. That had to count for something.

His friends occasionally commented on his change in behavior. Sirius regularly checked him for a fever, but for the most part they left him alone. It was Peter who pointed out that he had changed when he'd found Hermione, and again at Christmas, but Sirius ignored him as he usually did. James, though he wanted to defend his friend, didn't because he didn't want to explain _why_ he had changed. But then, Peter didn't seem to care. Ever since he'd started getting help from that mysterious tutor of his, he'd gained confidence in himself. He even answered questions in class—_correctly_.

But none of that mattered anymore, because the Dark Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters had slipped into the village and were now holding everyone in the Three Broomsticks hostage. Worse, none of the teachers were anywhere nearby to help them. It was supposed to be a pleasant outing, a boon from Dumbledore, who'd been rather somber of late, before exams.

James looked around, taking note of the six Death Eaters. There were about a dozen and a half students, and all of them were either sitting or kneeling. Some were kneeling as if they were in the presence of royalty. Some were kneeling because they were forced to kneel. Most were trembling in fear. James was surprised to see that Snivellus—Snape, he corrected himself—was one of those being forced to kneel. Only one student refused to follow Lord Voldemort's command.

Hermione Granger stood proudly, her chin up, back straight and shoulders back, looking for all the world like she was going to say 'you may bow' at any moment. She'd been sitting in the pub for hours, almost as if waiting for this very moment. She certainly didn't seem surprised to see the Dark Lord standing before her.

Voldemort turned towards her, and for the first time, James saw what he looked like. He'd heard stories, but he'd never seen so much as a photograph until that moment. Voldemort wore the blackest robes James had ever seen, and had a large locket with an S engraved on the front. His face looked distorted, his skin waxy and his eyes looked bloodshot. It was no wonder that people were beginning to fear even speaking his name. "And who might you be, my dear?" He said in a cold, high pitched voice. "Are you the witch out of time? Are you the one the Prophecy speaks of?"

James started. He knew what _witch out of time_ meant, and he didn't like where this was going.

"You actually believe that rubbish?" She drawled. That caused several raised eyebrows. She sounded bored. _Bored_. They were being held captive by a psychotic megalomaniac, and she spoke like she was discussing the weather.

One Death Eater raised his hand to strike her, but Voldemort stopped him. He laughed, a cold, sinister laugh. "My dear girl, why yes, of course I do. Some, most actually, are just the ramblings of fools, but this one I believe is very real. Considering the timing, it cannot be false. Let me help you. I will explain only what you need to know. It states that a _witch out of time _with a _broken past_ has come to the _home of Founders Four_.

"You are supposedly attacked by Dark Wizards unknown, and mysteriously escape to Hogwarts, the home of the four founders, and claim you are an orphan of war. Whether that is true or not, my sources tell me you remained here over the holidays, and that you received no gifts, lending at least some credence to your tale. If you are so unloved that you would not receive a single gift, that would certainly constitute a _broken past_. What I fail to understand is how someone as pathetic as you could somehow have tied your existence to my own."

Hermione smiled then, much like the Cheshire cat he'd once seen illustrated in a Muggle book. Then she swaggered forward, a cocky grin in place and an air of triumph about her. She was acting like _him_. Or rather, how he used to act. Maybe she had been more watching more closely than he originally thought.

"Well, if that's the case, let's chat! Get to know each other. Considering we'll be spending the rest of our lives together, I think it's a good idea, don't you?" She sat on the table beside him. He sneered at her in disgust and reached for his wand.

"What do you think of Basilisks?" She asked suddenly. Voldemort noticeably stiffened. "I think they're horrid creatures myself. Did you know there used to be one under the castle in some hidden chamber? I say there used to be one, because I killed it."

"You lie," Voldemort snapped.

Hermione smirked. "The entrance to the hidden chamber is in the girls' bathroom on the second floor. The entrance is…ah…guarded you could say by a ghost called Moaning Myrtle."

Voldemort hissed angrily, his lips curling in fierce snarl.

"Oh dear," Hermione said with exaggerated regret. "Was that your pet? I'm terribly sorry. How can I make it up to you? I'd offer to get you a crup, but they don't like Muggles, so I don't think they'll get along with your father and his family."

Voldemort made a strangled noise and raised his wand, eyes ablaze.

"Your friends look shocked. Didn't you tell them you're a half-blood?" She frowned mockingly. "You know, now that I think on it, I wouldn't either, if I were you. I mean, your mother's side of the family was so 'pure' they were disgustingly inbred, resulting in her entire family being quite insane. Your father doesn't seem to be much of a prize, considering he abandoned your mother while she was pregnant with you." Hermione leaned back. "That's some gene pool you got there, Riddle. You can't claim any sort of purity with that tainted blood of yours. At least _I_ can say my blood is pure mud."

James had no idea what a Jeen-pool was, or how she knew all of these things about Voldemort (he was certain they were true, considering the way Voldemort reacted), but he was very afraid. The Death Eaters were shifting restlessly, and Voldemort looked ready to snap. She was going too far, especially with that 'tainted blood' comment.

Then James saw her glance out the window, and a new idea occurred to him. Surely someone would walk by, peek in the window. Seeing trouble, that person would get help. She was keeping Voldemort's attention focused on her, risking her life, to buy them time.

"Let's move on to something more cheerful, shall we? What do you like to do in your spare time?" She leaned forward conspiratorially. "I like—" Here her voice dropped too low for him to hear.

For the first time since the encounter began, Voldemort looked afraid. James didn't know what she'd said, but whatever it was, it put the fear of Merlin into the Dark Wizard.

"I've made quite the hobby of finding and destroying them. I've found a tiara, a ring, a journal, and a cup so far."

In a flash, Voldemort had her by the throat, his wand pressed into her cheek. Peter and Sniv—Snape both tried to rise to their feet, only to be pushed back down by nearby Death Eaters.

"I die, you die," Hermione rasped. "Your _Prophecy _says our lives are tied together. We die together." James could see a strange glitter in her eyes. "You're as mortal as I am."

Voldemort released her roughly, the silverware on the table clinking loudly. "We're leaving," he said in his cold voice.

Hermione was looking at something beside her. "Yes, I suppose we are leaving," she said. Her voice was distant, as if she were lost in a memory. She looked at James for the briefest moment, then glanced at Lily. She smiled with grim satisfaction. "We're out of time, you and I."

Voldemort sneered at her. "If you're done with your trite little sayings, we have other places—" He was cut off when Hermione abruptly jumped off the table and lunged at him, knife in hand.

For years, there would be arguments about what really happened. Some would say there was a wizard's duel, others would claim a brawl. Such tales were incorrect, likely started by the younger students prone to exaggeration, or overly proud Death Eaters unwilling to admit the truth.

Voldemort dropped his wand in surprise and picked up the nearest weapon, a knife similar the one Hermione held. He raised it in defense—James could see everything as if time had slowed—just as Hermione jumped at him, plunging her knife into the Dark Wizard's chest and impaling herself on his at the same time.

Hermione held her knife tightly in her right hand, her left reaching out desperately around Voldemort's neck to hold herself up. Voldemort's right hand held his knife—hidden from view—and his left was wrapped around Hermione's waist as if to prevent her escape. When viewed together, their pose made a mockery of a lover's embrace.

"How fitting," Hermione said hoarsely. The pair crashed to their knees, still holding each other. "That the two people who belong in this world the least." She stopped to cough, blood bubbling up in the corner of her mouth. Voldemort's head had fallen forward, his face buried in the crook of her neck. "Should leave it together." She sagged against him, her head resting on his shoulder. "How Shakespearean." Her voice was a whisper.

James heard someone chanting "_No no no!_" over and over. It wasn't until he found himself scrambling across the floor, crashing into the chairs and tripping over his trembling limbs that he realized it was _him_. He grabbed Hermione, slipping his arm across the front of her shoulders and pulling her back and shoving Voldemort away.

"No," he whispered, looking at the knife sticking out of her stomach. It was a gruesome sight—when he'd pushed the other wizard away, the knife had moved, enlarging the wound further. He wanted to try and staunch the blood, but couldn't bring himself to touch the knife, let alone remove it, so he could apply pressure. Instead her pulled her tighter against his chest.

"Hermione." It was the first time he'd said her name. He'd heard it, read it, thought it, but he'd never said it before. "It's…it'll be okay." James brushed her hair away from her face. "Shh, it'll all be alright," he crooned. He rocked her back and forth, comforting her as a father would comfort a daughter.

She looked up at him, her warm brown eyes a little hazy as her life slipped away. She smiled.

"S'alrigh…" Hermione slurred. "Harry will be 'appy now. S'all the thankss I need." Her head fell back silently. Her chest stilled. She was dead. With that dreamy smile on her face, anyone would have thought she was sleeping. But she wasn't. She was dead, and she was still smiling.

It was wrong. She wasn't supposed to die. The aurors would have caught Voldemort eventually, he was sure. She was supposed to find her way back home and be happy.

He looked up when he heard a series of cracks. The Hogwarts staff arrived—and the Death Eaters fled. James looked up into the sad eyes of the headmaster. James knew who Hermione really was, and now Dumbledore was aware of his knowledge.

Everyone around them was whispering. Dumbledore softly issued commands to the staff. Peter was sobbing in a corner. Snape was standing over them, staring at Hermione in shock. He was shaking his head, as if trying to convince himself it was a dream. For once in his life, James agreed—he hoped this was but a dream. He knew it was not.

————

A few days later, James heard that there was a grand ceremony held on the Hogwarts grounds. Hermione's was body buried in the Hogwarts Cemetery along with the other orphans that had died at Hogwarts. A beautiful white-marble obelisk was erected on the grounds in her honor. It was decided that one side of the obelisk would be imbedded with the awards she would inevitably receive. Since she was a _war orphan_, there would be no one to claim them anyways.

At the ceremony, several people gave speeches. No one seemed to care that no one who spoke was a family member. Slughorn represented the staff, and Moaning Myrtle spoke for the Ghosts of Hogwarts. Peter stood for Gryffindor, Edgar Bones for Hufflepuff, Dorcas Meadowes for Ravenclaw, and Snape, of all people, for Slytherin. Then the Ministry gave their speeches about the girl they'd never met.

James didn't attend the ceremony. He was excused by Dumbledore, who explained to everyone that his absence was due to his traumatic experience. He didn't think Hermione would have wanted so much fuss anyways. He stayed in his dorm, not looking at the picture he'd selfishly stolen. It had become a punishment for him now.

Instead, he read the journal Dumbledore had given him before the ceremony began, when he explained to James that he needn't attend. Neither mentioned the truth about Hermione Granger.

So James lay on his bed, reading Hermione's journal. It was more of a novel. She even had a table of contents, much to his amusement. There was a prologue, broken into three parts, each section detailing life before Hogwarts for Harry, Ron and herself. The names given to each section were humorous too, making him smile. The actual content was less amusing.

_The Potter Years_, which detailed Harry's life as Hermione knew it, was most disturbing. It had Harry's birthday, which he thought was good information to know. Lily and James were murdered by Voldemort on October 31st, 1981, at the age of 21, when they were betrayed. Curiously, it didn't say who betrayed them. Perhaps she didn't know?

The sole survivor and hero of the wizarding world, Harry was then called the Boy-Who-Lived, and bore a lightening bolt scar. Harry was raised by his magic-hating Muggle relatives. Hermione speculated abuse, but there was no physical evidence, other than a pair of broken glasses. Harry was very skinny though, making her believe he was undernourished at the very least, and was uncomfortable with physical affection, leading her to believe there was a lack of said affection in his youth.

_The Weasley Chronicles _was much lighter. It detailed the seven Weasley children, their birthdays, and some of the regular goings-on at the Burrow, the name affectionately given to their home. James was a little disturbed when reading about Ginny Weasley's intense crush on Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. It didn't seem to him like a strong basis for a relationship. Maybe she would get to know him better.

_The Granger Files _was surprisingly short given the detail in the other two sections of the Prologue. It told her birthday and where she was born, her parents' names and occupations and the schools she attended. Her favorite thing to do when she was little was discuss philosophy with her father. It didn't even take up a full page. There wasn't a single word about her friends.

Than he moved on to their lives at Hogwarts. There were seven chapters, called _The Philosopher's Stone_, _The Chamber of Secrets_, _The Prisoner of Azkaban_, _The Goblet of Fire_, _The Order of the Phoenix_, _The Half-Blood Prince_, and _The Deathly Hallows_, respectively. Each chapter briefly summarized a year in about five or six pages.

James laughed when she set Snape's robes on fire, cheered when she figured out it was a Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets—and frowned when Dumbledore awarded Harry and Ron for their heroic deeds, but did not give Hermione so much as a single House point for solving a riddle that puzzled wizards since the school was built. He snarled angrily when he learned Peter betrayed them, swelled with pride when Harry got the golden egg from the dragon, and mourned when Sirius fell through the Veil. He shuddered when Malfoy let the Death Eaters into the school through the Vanishing Cabinet, wept when Harry sacrificed his life to destroy the Horcrux in his scar, and shouted with joy when he came back and killed that half-human bastard.

She never actually stated it, but James was able to read between the lines. In his mind's eye, he could see her smiling when she wrote about him. In a way, he could _sense_ her affection for Harry in her words. She was in love with him, and he was in love with Ginny Weasley. James could tell she was trying very hard to be happy for him, bless her. She wanted him to be happy, even if it wasn't with her.

Then came the epilogue, which she had ironically titled _Out of Time_. The title was different. Was the ink darker? Her words more rushed? Perhaps more recent? Yes, that seemed to be it. It seemed as if she had just added the title recently. How curious.

A group of Death Eaters had attacked a week after Voldemort's demise. Their target was Ginny Weasley—Harry Potter's love (James was sure she wouldn't have looked twice at Harry if he weren't famous)—but they found Hermione instead. Somehow, as she led them on a merry chase in the dungeons, a combination of spells sent her back in time. The next thing she remembered was waking up in the hospital wing. James cringed. She never knew he'd saved her.

From there she detailed her plans to save the world. She told how she planned to tutor Peter so that he wouldn't feel like he needed to be around someone powerful. By giving him confidence, she hoped she could keep him from being seduced by the Death Eater Dogma and remain loyal to his friends.

She explained her plan to restore Snape's faith in people. She wanted to be his friend. Her method was simple—she was kind to him and provided him with another person capable of intelligent conversation. It was no simple task, as he was untrusting in the extreme, but eventually she won his trust—and his friendship. She treasured both.

Then there were the more dangerous aspects of her quest. She explained her seemingly unwarranted destruction of the Vanishing Cabinet, and recounted the slaying of the Basilisk and taking the fangs to destroy the Horcruxes. She used one to destroy the diadem in the Room of Requirement (James made a mental note to find that room and find a way to put it on the Map).

Then she slipped away to go to the Gaunt house where she retrieved the ring and destroyed with without telling Dumbledore so he would never know it was the Resurrection Stone (reminding James never to show the headmaster his Cloak). The following night she had gone into the Forbidden Forest, where she entrusted the ring to a centaur named Firenze.

Next she recounted how she obtained and destroyed the cup and the diary with Dumbledore's help. Hermione theorized that since Regulus was still alive, the locket hadn't been turned into a Horcrux yet. Still, to be sure, she had checked the cave where it was once hidden in her time. There were no traces of magic.

When she wasn't hunting Horcruxes, she was working with Mad-eye Moody, doing reconnaissance. Most of those nights when he couldn't find her on the Map, she was out watching known Death Eater bases with Moody. Dumbledore had allowed it since she was of age and capable in the field.

That was as far as she'd gotten before she'd died.

There were other plans too. She had an entire list of causes to fight for, Werewolf and House-elf rights among them. Clearing Hagrid's name was at the top of the list. She made a few plans for ways she could begin to bridge the gap between Purebloods and Muggle-borns. There were old, outdated laws she wanted to abolish. Baby Steps, she'd called them, because as she'd learned for the House-elves—James didn't really understand the reference—sometimes people just weren't ready for big changes.

Above all else, Hermione used her journal as a companion. At Dumbledore's prompting, she isolated herself from others, lest she interfere with relationships and prevent someone being born, Harry in particular. It was obvious that she was doing everything for him. She made it perfectly clear that she was willing to die if it meant he would have the life he deserved. James knew it was true—she'd glanced at him and Lily before she attacked Voldemort. Harry's parents. She died so that they could live. So Harry could be born and live free.

She spoke sometimes of being out of place. It wasn't her time, and Hermione felt she didn't fit properly. Little phrases like 'rightful counterpart' and 'proper place' tended to crop up more often as he read. It was disturbing that she felt more and more disconnected everyday. Perhaps her self isolation was getting to her?

She mentioned watching him and Lily. Against her better judgment, she had given him advice rather than letting things unfold naturally. He'd reminded her of Harry, hopeless with girls (this caused James to scoff), and she had been unable to resist helping him. Still, she did not allow herself more than one conversation. She couldn't get close. She dreaded anyone learning she was a time traveler lest they begin experimenting to try and recreate her voyage with disastrous results.

For the three days before her death there were no entries. The last entry was dated the morning she died. Hermione noted that, for the first time since her arrival, she was going to go to Hogsmeade. There was no cheer, it was merely a statement. There was nothing more.

Finished, he shut the book, feeling more worn than he'd ever felt in his life. It aged him. There was a lot of information in the journal. Now he knew everything. The Horcruxes, Dumbledore's obsession with the Hallows, Riddle's history, the 'prank' Sirius would pull involving Snape and Moony sometime next year, Dobby's suffering, Umbridge's machinations. Everything.

Breathing heavily, he stood and walked to the window. Closing his eyes, he pressed his head against the frigid glass. After a moment he opened his eyes. A winged, skeletal horse was flying over the Forbidden Forest. James shuddered. A thestral, if the drawings in his textbook were accurate. He'd seen death, and now he could see thestrals.

James set off to wander the castle. The stuffy dormitory was suffocating him. Feeling the weight that Hermione surely felt, he began to walk around. It was a miracle she hadn't snapped.

He didn't like knowing the future.

As he wondered, he compared Hermione and the Lily of the future. He couldn't help but compare them. Both had died for Harry: Lily so the boy could live, and Hermione so he could live the life she felt he deserved. James wondered if Lily had smiled the same way Hermione did as she died.

Eventually he found himself in the library, in front of her table. He sat heavily in the same chair from months before. Hermione's chair was pulled away from the table a little and turned ever so slightly to the left, as if she had just stepped away and would be back with a new book. He sat and stared. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear her laughing, like she did that day.

"James?" A soft voice spoke behind him. He turned in his seat and saw Lily watching him in concern. "Black said you weren't in the dorms," she said walking over. She reached out to move Hermione's chair.

"Don't," he said. "You can't sit there."

"Why not?" She asked, frowning in confusion.

"She sat there." There was no need to ask who 'she' was.

Nodding, Lily took the seat to his right. "Were you friends?" She asked softly. James looked at her, but her face was expressionless.

"No," he answered. "I didn't know her. At all. I thought I had her figured out, you know? I thought she was arrogant and ungrateful." He grew quiet. "But she wasn't like that at all, was she? She died for us." He had to say it, even if Lily didn't know the extent of that truth.

Lily was silent. She hadn't known Hermione very well. Nobody did. Except him, now, and maybe Dumbledore.

"What do you think of the term Newblood?" He asked suddenly.

"Newblood? What is that?"

"You know how you're a Muggle-born?" Lily nodded. "Well a Newblood is the same thing. See, the word Muggle-born is a subtle way of pointing out you're different," he explained. "Pureblood, Half-Blood, Muggle-born. See the difference? But Newblood fits better, and sounds positive, you know? You're introducing new blood into the wizarding world. It's a kinder alternative to 'Mudblood' and works with the _blood_ scheme."

Lily sat back in surprise. "How'd you come up with that?"

"I didn't," he replied. He refused to say more, lest he have to explain. Lily didn't need to know that Hermione used the word in her journal when she'd stated the same arguments he had just presented. It was one of her Baby Steps.

Lily watched him closely for a long moment. "It's brilliant," she said softly then smiled. "Listen, there's a feast tonight. Dumbledore wants everyone there, even you." He nodded and stood. "And James? Thanks for not being a git."

For years, Lily would wonder why he winced when she'd said that.

________

A/N: Yes, Hermione had to die. I'm actually trying to write a story where everyone gets their Happily Ever After, and it just can't happen if our time traveler is alive. There was no way she could 'go back' to her own time—even the slightest change would have created ripples through time, and the world as she knew it would no longer exist; she would have no world to go back to. See? She had to die. I hope I did justice to her death. I will admit that the death scene was _vaguely_ inspired by the end of Gladiator.

About the Locket, I'm operating under the assumption that Riddle is intelligent (sometimes I wonder). Regulus became a Death Eater young, and is younger than Sirius. Sirius is a fifth year. I can't see Riddle making kids with a third year education Death Eaters, but let's say he did. We can infer then that Regulus wouldn't be trusted with a piece of Voldemort's soul yet, nor would Voldemort risk having a Horcrux hanging around. I'm guessing he would hide a Horcrux within a year of its creation (I'm giving him extra time, since he normally only uses a school year for his plans). Based on this, the Locket, while in his possession, is not a Horcrux.

I want to tell you all that I am definitely NOT going to write a story from Hermione's point of view detailing her escapades. I do have a few one-shots from other POVs detailing different events. I'm testing my writing abilities. Hermione is a character I'm comfortable with, so I'm trying my hand at others. That said, if any of you find you have been struck by the inspiration fairy, feel free to write Hermione's POV yourself.

As for the prophecy, yes, I made one up. I did not think Voldemort would be willing to repeat the whole thing in a room full of people. If you want to know what it is, you will have to read the companion piece to this story (as of this moment, it doesn't have a title) when I post it. It will be in Dumbledore's chapter, titled Rook. ALSO! There is more to the prophecy than I let on. Don't worry. The rest of it is in Part Four. Remember, I can't write anything simple. It's always complex.

Well, thank you, everyone who read, and special thanks to those who reviewed.

Cheers,

Madm_05


	3. Familiarity

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of other characters in this story.

Many Thanks

Part Three: Familiarity

James Potter walked through his modest home, relishing in the feel of warmth that radiated from the very walls. It relaxed him, even if only a little. So many years after Hogwarts, he was a well-known and much loved Social Engineer, as Lily had taken to calling him.

He had worked hard to clear Hagrid's name, methodically presenting evidence before the Wizengamot until they had no choice but to clear his record. They even presented him with a Baton—a fake wand he could take to Ollivanders which he could exchange for a real wand that suited him. The Ministry later compensated Ollivander.

That had been easy, though. Now he was arguing with grumpy old men about laws older than even their grandfathers, that they were unwilling to part with. It was alright though—James Potter had learned to be patient. With three children, two sons, seven and five, and a two year old daughter, he had no choice in the matter.

"What happened next?" A voice whispered. James stopped. He sighed. It came from Harry's room. The boy was really beginning to concern him. He was always up late at night, talking to himself. When asked about his imaginary friend, Harry would say nothing. James leaned closer to the door to hear.

"Wow," Harry breathed softly. "That would be so neat. I wish I could make a Patronus that powerful, Jane." James frowned. Jane? "But what's a stag?" Silence. "Oh! My dad can turn into one of those!" Outside the room James froze. "I'm not supposed to know about that, though. I saw him out the window last year while he was playing with Uncle Sirius and Uncle Remus and Uncle Peter."

There was a lengthy silence before Harry sighed. "But I'm not tired! Really!" A pause. "Alright, I guess." James heard blankets moving. "Jane? Do you think I'll ever have friends like that? I want to be like the Harry Potter in your story." This time there was a long silence. "Promise?" Another pause. "Goodnight Jane. I love you." There was a rustle of sheets and blankets again, then quiet.

Heart hammering, James went to the kitchen to sit quietly for a few moments to gather his scattered thoughts. In the end, he brewed himself a cup of tea that he didn't drink. Instead, he watched tendrils of steam curl and twist in the air before vanishing.

A thousand questions ran through his mind, each more confusing than the last. Who was Jane? Was she real or imaginary? A ghost, perhaps? Was she someone he knew? Hermione? Was that even possible? Surely, if she were a ghost she would have shown herself by now. Right?

James decided to look at it from a different angle. He considered his son. Though he would have liked to take credit for the way Harry was turning out, he wasn't sure he could. Despite only being seven, Harry seemed far older. Sometimes, he'd get a faraway look in his eyes, then he would say something rather profound. It was Harry, in fact, who pointed out that some of the members of the Wizengamot were probably afraid months ago, when James had been discussing it with Lily over dinner. They feared progress, it seemed to him, no matter how much it would help their society, because it meant changing what they were familiar with.

Everyone commented on how much alike the two of them were, but James wasn't sure. He had certainly never been so thoughtful when he was younger. There was something familiar about his mannerisms, but he just couldn't figure it out. In a strange way, it was as if Harry raised himself. James couldn't remember the last time Harry had asked him to explain something, or if he ever had.

He saw everything differently, too. Harry saw the world in shades of gray. The things he would say, his understanding of concepts like freedom, sacrifice…they were beyond his age. At first, it didn't bother James. In her journal, Hermione had praised Harry's instincts, his understanding of the world around him. But now, with the entrance of _Jane_, James feared there was something amiss.

Just under an hour later, Lily came in, searching for him. Seeing he was in one of his moods, she didn't bother him, only fixed him another cup of tea and gave him The Look until he drank it. Once the cup was empty, they went to bed, but James did not sleep. He stayed awake, looking at the ceiling.

When the sun rose, he owled the Ministry, saying he was finally going to use one of the vacation days he had saved up and take the day off. Lily, on the other hand, had to leave. After all, Lily Potter was Hogwarts' resident Potions Mistress. Both Lily and James were glad that Dumbledore was lenient enough that he allowed Lily to spend Friday evenings through Monday mornings in her home, in addition to her maternity leave, so long as she finished her work. James made a mental note to tell Dobby, recently purchased from the Malfoys, that he didn't have to watch the children.

After breakfast, James, Harry, Charlus and Harmony kissed Lily goodbye before she left. James put Harmony in her playpen, and Charlus went back to his room to play with his toys. Harry was looking at the bookshelf, lightly fingering the spine of one of the books. James walked up to see what held his attention. _Hogwarts, A History_. He should have known—it was Harry's favorite book.

"Harry, son, can we talk?" James asked. Harry turned around. His skin was unblemished, fair, and free of scars. His ravens-wing hair was messy, and his emerald eyes were wide behind their unbroken frames, looking at James with a kind of heartbreaking innocence.

Harry smiled, his face lighting up at the sight of is father. "Sure Dad! What do you want to talk about?"

James smiled. Harry had been like that since the day he was born. Warm and talkative, a far cry from the quiet, brooding boy Hermione had written about. The boy before him was always smiling, always making others laugh. He tried so hard to be a good big brother too. When James or Lily asked him to help with Charlus or Harmony, he did it without question. He adored his family.

"Harry, last night I heard you talking to someone named Jane," he said, not bothering to dance around the matter.

The boy was silent. He looked off to the left for a moment then nodded. "Okay Dad. I'll explain everything if you want."

"I do," James replied.

"Jane is my friend," Harry began. "Nobody can see her but me, but you don't have to worry Dad. I promise, she'd never hurt anyone. She's real nice. Jane tells me stories before I go to sleep, and the hero of the story has my name, so it's always fun. He has friends too, named Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, but the Hermione Granger in the story isn't like the one who killed Voldemort, just like the Harry Potter who fights dark wizards and dragons isn't me, you see? They're just stories.

"But she helps me too. I think Jane knows everything. If I don't know something, she explains it to me." He frowned. "She doesn't tell me everything though. She says that there are some things I don't need to know until I'm older." He softened. "Jane really is good. You don't have to be afraid."

Jane was obviously quite real, as well, since Harry had addressed James' fear that this Jane was dangerous. It didn't help Jane any that she seemed to be coaching Harry in his answers. If it really was Hermione, then James was sure that, for some reason, she had chosen to stay behind and guard Harry. If it wasn't Hermione, James feared for his son. But with those stories…the Patronus…it _had_ to be her.

"Alright, Harry," James said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Across from him, Harry pushed his glasses up on his face. They were always sliding down. "Tell me more about…_Jane_. What does she look like?"

Harry smiled. It was a dazzling smile, like Lily's. It made others want to smile. "Jane's beautiful Dad. I would marry her if I could." Harry paused and made a face off to the left, where James assumed Jane was standing. "I would so!" He turned back to James. "She has brown hair and eyes, and her hair is really curly. She has this scar, too, right here." Harry used his finger to draw an imaginary line on the left side of his forehead, and moving down through his eyebrow. James felt himself relax a little. That was just like Hermione's scar. So it was her. But how?

James left it at that. He asked Harry to come to him rather than Jane when he had questions, but if the boy was anything like him, he wouldn't.

Rather than try and enforce his new rule, he did some research to find out just what exactly Jane—_Hermione—_was. It was a trying task, but tolerable. He'd hated doing research in Hogwarts, but it was normal for him now. His study was filled with legal books. There was little on other phenomena though. After three books, he found the answer.

A Phantom.

Ghosts were imprints of dead wizards who feared death, capable only of traveling where they had been when they were alive. Hermione was not a ghost, she was a Phantom. In life, she had not feared death, but still had Unfinished Business among the living. As such, Phantoms stayed behind until that business had been tended to. James suspected that Hermione would not be able to rest until she knew that Harry was happy.

As for their abilities, Phantoms were more versatile than ghosts. They could appear to anyone of their choosing, and communicate with them. They could also move things if they felt it was necessary. A well-meaning Phantom could helpfully hand a wizard something they needed, for instance. Remaining in the physical world was draining, so there were limitations, but they could help out in a pinch.

Well, that was one curiosity explained. James considered everything else Harry told him. He was struck, hard, but what Harry had said about the Harry in the stories, and his friends.

He immediately pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and a quill. He needed to speak with Mr. Arthur Weasley. He'd sheltered Harry too long—it was time to allow the boy to make friends who were among the living.

————

Four Years Later

————

"I'm telling you, she was a spy from Germany, sent by former agents of Grindelwald to overthrow a potential competitor for a new Dark Lord!"

"And I'm telling _you_ that she was a radical _Newblood_, out to overthrow the Purebloods!"

"You're both wrong," a man interjected firmly. "She was a school girl who didn't feel like living under the thumb of a Pureblood Supremacist, and didn't want the rest of the world to suffer the same fate. She was very caring in that way."

The two boys arguing stopped walking abruptly, revealing Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy. "Healer Pettigrew," Malfoy said with a charming smile. "How fortunate! You actually knew the legendary Hermione Granger, did you not?"

"He did, along with the rest of us," James said, stepping forward. Remus, Sirius and his family stood on Peter's right, while James and his family stood on his left.

"Perhaps," Malfoy agreed coolly. "But few, save the renowned Potions Master, Severus Snape, knew her quite as well as Healer Pettigrew." James heard Sirius snort mirthfully and could imagine Remus' grin. Lily was actually smirking. "You certainly knew her well enough that he named his daughter for her," Malfoy added, looking at the girl holding Peter's hand.

Hermione Pettigrew ducked behind her father. Gently reaching behind him, he set his hand on her shoulder comfortingly. Peter Pettigrew was nothing like the traitor Hermione described in her journal. He was one of the best Healers at St. Mungo's, and a man who stood by his morals. More importantly, he was a good father who treasured his daughter above everything else, especially since his wife's death.

"Hermione is a popular name," James calmly told the two boys. "If you recall, Severus Snape also has a daughter named Hermione, as do the Longbottoms. Why look, there's another Hermione, right over there." He nodded in the direction of a family that had just stepped onto Platform 9 ¾. It was the Michaels family. Their oldest son, Dean Michaels (who James believed was the Dean Thomas Hermione described in her journal) would be attending Hogwarts with Harry and the two boys in front of him. Their youngest daughter was named Hermione.

"Yes, I've noticed. I've also noticed there are quite a few Harry's and Neville's, too," Nott said glancing at Harry then over to the Longbottoms, where Neville was trying to calm his cat. "Those are names often mentioned along with hers. They were friends of hers, am I correct?"

"So the stories say," Sirius replied blandly. "We really don't know, since we never interrogated her about her life before she came to Hogwarts. We were mental enough to respect her privacy."

"Hermione was exactly as I described her. She was a kind hearted person who was willing to die for what she believed in," Peter finished.

"More than willing, I dare say," Malfoy added.

James opened his mouth to reply, but a tugging on his robes drew his attention. "Daddy," a little girl whined. "I'm bored. I wanna do sumfing. We've just been standing here for _ever_ doing nuffing!"

Smiling warmly, James picked up the pouting five (nearly six) year old. "Harmony, sweetheart, you need to be patient. Your brother Harry is leaving for school today."

"Is Charlie going, too?" She asked hopefully.

"No," he laughed. "Charlus won't go to Hogwarts for another two years."

"Well, far be it from me to continue interrupting such a…_touching_ family moment," Malfoy said, his lips curling ever so slightly in disdain. "I believe I shall take my leave."

"And I," Nott agreed. The two boys nodded and walked away, an arrogant swagger in each step.

"What fine Slytherins they'll make," Sirius muttered to Remus. "Such subtlety. That was a staged conversation if I've ever heard one."

"Harmony's right, Dad," Charlus said. "We have been standing here for a long time, longer than anyone else."

"We're waiting for someone," James replied easily.

"Who?"

"Don't you worry about it," Lily said, catching James' eye.

A month before, James, knowing this day would come, gathered the Marauders, Lily and Dorcas Black nee Meadowes and showed them the picture he had taken all those years ago. He did not show them the journal—he would not make them read about their deaths. Knowing Sirius, he would be angry with Peter for a long time before he realized that Wormtail was a different person. James didn't want to think how Peter would take the news. No, he wouldn't share his burden. He wasn't that selfish, not anymore.

At first they were confused, then angry that he had waited so long to tell them.

"_This hasn't been pleasant for me, you know. Part of me can't wait to see her again, but then I remember she won't be the same girl. In her time, Voldemort was still wreaking havoc. She spent the better part of her life fighting him. The Hermione Granger we knew was a soldier. The one we have yet to meet is a child. I just didn't want you to be shocked if we see her."_

They had not argued after that, and examined the photo instead. James was proud of himself—he didn't so much as wince when Peter commented on Harry's scar. When Remus asked, he confirmed that Hermione was the mysterious Custos who brewed the Wolfsbane for him.

So there they were, the Potters, the Blacks, the Pettigrews, and Remus, still unwed (though there was a lovely lady he was hoping would be his wife—when he got the nerve to ask her), waiting. It hadn't even really been a question whether or not they wanted to see her.

"Hey, where's Harry?" Charlus asked.

"Dunno," Alphard replied. "Probably moping about that Jane girl he talks about saying she couldn't see him anymore." Alphard was Sirius' son and Charlus' best friend. Together, Alphy and Charlie were as close to being twin terrors as two un-related boys could be.

"Watch it, Alphy," Sirius said. James had explained to the others who Jane really was, and while the other kids seemed to think that Jane was Harry's _girlfriend_, the adults knew the truth.

"Where _is_ Harry?" Remus asked, looking around. James frowned too, wondering just when his son had wandered off.

"Excuse me," someone said. They turned to find a frazzled looking Muggle woman who looked vaguely familiar. "I'm looking for a little girl."

Remus laughed. "You'll find there are plenty of little girls here."

The woman smiled tiredly. "Well, her name is Hermione—"

Peter's daughter squeaked and ducked behind her father.

"—Granger."

"Did you say Hermione Granger?" Sirius asked quickly. Peter's daughter peaked around his legs.

"Yes," the woman said in surprise. "I'm Samantha Granger, Hermione's mother. I can't find her anywhere!"

"Don't worry," Lily said soothingly. "We'll help find her. Can you tell us what happened?"

"Darren, my husband, Hermione and I walked through that…that brick wall onto the platform, and Hermione saw this boy with messy hair leaning against the wall," Samantha began. James already had a fair idea of what happened and started looking for a cluster of eleven year olds. "She went up to him to find out what was wrong—she worries about others like that, you see."

Peter grinned. "Really, now?"

Samantha didn't notice his amused tone. "She introduced herself and he just," she threw up her hand in exasperation. "He just grabbed her hand and ran off with her!" Sirius began to laugh. When Samantha shot him an offended look, he only laughed harder.

"Allow me to explain, Mrs. Granger," Dorcas intervened. "My husband, Sirius, is laughing because the boy who ran off with your daughter is our godson, Harry. These are Harry's parents, Lily and James."

"Oh, well, that's makes sense then," Samantha said in a tone that implied she thought they were all mental. Still, she relaxed a little.

"That's not why I'm laughing," Sirius gasped. "I think there's a wedding in our future. Do you remember our first year, James?" Remus and Peter began to laugh heartily, while Lily and James shared a look. "I seem to recall you doing the same to Lily!"

"That's not how it happened," James mumbled.

"Oh that's right," Dorcas smirked. "I was standing nearby. I saw it all. You tripped over your own feet and fell flat on your face. Then Lily helped you up and you told her she was beautiful and asked her to marry you. Then you dragged her over to meet your parents—her future in-laws, you said."

Samantha smiled uncomfortably, clearing feeling out of the loop. Lily took pity on her. "I see Harry coming this way. Is that your daughter?" She asked. James could tell by the tone in her voice that she already knew it was. There was one only person with hair like that.

They approached, Harry pulling Hermione. She looked like she did in the photograph. Untamable hair, large front teeth and an immaculate uniform. Her robes looked liked they had just been pressed, and he was willing to bet that the rest of her uniform, tie included, had been given the same treatment. Why wasn't he surprised? The only thing out of place was the flustered look on her face. She must get that from her mother.

"Mum! Dad!" Harry cheered with a boyish grin. His green eyes glittered with perfectly preserved innocence. His glasses were unbroken, though not for his lack of trying—they'd been broken when Harry jumped out of a tree, tried to climb the trellis at the Longbottom house and fell, and decided it would be a grand idea to wrestle with the ghoul in the Weasleys' attic, but James always repaired them.

James smiled as his son approached. He had worked hard over the years to instill the morals in Harry that he had learned from Hermione through their meetings and her journal. Between himself, Lily, and Hermione's Phantom, they had turned Harry into an easy-going boy with a good sense of good humor, and an understanding that there is right, there is wrong, and there are things in between. He did have a muted sort of arrogance about him, and had no trouble at all breaking rules. James smugly recognized that Harry got that from him.

"This is my new friend, Hermione," Harry said with a wide grin. "And guess what, her last name is Granger! Isn't that great?"

"It's just a coincidence that we have the same name, you know. We're not related in any way," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "I'm sure there are several girls named Hermione in the world, as it's a common practice to name a child for someone famous, and Granger is a common surname. Surely I'm not the only one." She lightly tugged her hand away, but Harry didn't let go.

"Does that tone sound familiar?" Remus asked Peter softly.

"Very much." Peter replied. James could hear his grin. Maybe the two Hermione's were more alike than he'd originally thought they would be. It was comforting.

"Wow, you're pretty smart!" Harry said.

Hermione's shoulders drooped a little and her face fell. Samantha winced and set her hand on Hermione's shoulder. James got the feeling that Hermione's intelligence often separated her from her peers. He recalled that, when she had summarized her own life in her journal, she hadn't mentioned any friends prior to Hogwarts. He realized that there was a strong possibility that she hadn't _had_ any friends before. She probably expected Harry to abandon their fledgling friendship. Fortunately, he'd raised Harry better than that.

"I'm going to have to actually study if I want to keep up with you." Harry continued, squeezing her hand a little. James grinned. Harry was quite the charmer.

Hermione looked at him in confusion, then looked up at her mother, not knowing how to react. For someone of her intellectual disposition, James supposed Hermione wasn't used to anyone simply accepting her bookish nature. Of course, Harry wasn't like everyone else.

"So, when's your wedding?" Charlus asked snidely, before making kissing noises at them. Alphard laughed, and Charlus joined him.

"After we graduate," Harry replied. They stopped laughing.

Hermione stared at him blankly, as if not comprehending his words. "We're a bit young, don't you think?" She squeaked.

"That's why we're waiting until after we graduate," Harry replied earnestly.

Hermione's jaw dropped amidst the laughter. Even Mrs. Granger was amused—and relieved, as far as James could tell. Perhaps she feared her daughter would never love anything but the written word, and would now have a friend. Oh, the things he could tell her.

"Honey," a few voice broke in. "You found her! Good thing, I was having a spot of trouble." A man with curly brown hair walked up. "I told a gentleman I was looking for Hermione Granger and he accosted me! He let me go when I told him that I was only looking for my daughter. Though I must say, he didn't appreciate my 'preaching', I believe he called it. Really I only told him that violence begets violence."

"Martin Luther King Junior," Harry said suddenly.

Hermione looked at him in surprise. "_You_ know philosophy?"

"Harry and I talk about different philosophies all the time," James said, smiling at her. There was a glimmer of excitement in her eyes.

"What do you think about John Locke's—"

The first train whistle blew, startling everyone. "Oh dear," Samantha said. "It's time for you to go."

Harry released Hermione's hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of her." Harmony was giggling, but Charlus and Alphard were making gagging noises. Hermione's face was red.

Mr. Granger looked at the two before looking at the others. "Did I miss something?"

"We need to go," Hermione said anxiously. "I don't want to miss the train—what would my professors think of me? I could be expelled!" She looked ill.

Lily laughed beside him. "Don't worry, Dear, I'm one of your professors, and I'll make sure you don't get expelled. Besides, Headmaster Dumbledore is very forgiving."

"He'd never expel you," Peter offered comfortingly. "But even so, you'd still better get going."

James embraced Harry. It was well known that father and son were affectionate with one another. Some wizards told him it would turn Harry into a Nancy boy, but James thought that Harry had more confidence in himself than _their_ sons. Lily kissed him on the cheek and assured him she'd see him soon.

While Sirius, Remus and Peter said their goodbyes, the Grangers were saying goodbye to their daughter. "You'll remember to brush your teeth?"

"Yes, Dad, I will."

"You'll write us everyday?"

"Unless it interferes with my homework, yes, I will write you."

"You have everyone?"

The second whistle blew.

"Yes, I have everyone, I love you, bye!" She turned to Harry. "Are you ready?" She asked, her normal confidence giving way to bashfulness.

"Yeah, let's go. Bye everyone, I'll write soon!"

The two took off to find a somewhere to sit—Harry would probably lead Hermione to his group of friends. She would do well with them.

"Excuse me," Remus began. "But if I may ask, what did she mean when she said she had _everyone_?"

The couple laughed. "Well, we didn't say anything but," Samantha leaned forward conspiratorially. "They're her stuffed animals. Hermione adores them. Takes them with her everywhere. What are their names again, Darren?"

"Ah, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs, Moony and Sevvy." He scratched his chin. "She's had them since she was a baby. There were just in her bassinet with her at the hospital, with little tags around their necks. We don't know who left them, so we never got to thank them." Everyone but the Grangers and the children—who had wondered off to some of their own playmates—looked at James. He didn't notice. He was trying to figure out where the fifth one came from.

"Not Sevvy," Samantha said. "She got him when she was three. There was this stuffed bat someone had left at the register in the checkout line. She begged me to get him for her, though why she wanted a bat is beyond me—it even has fangs. And that name!"

Darren shrugged. "It was Jane's idea, remember?" Seeing their stunned looks, he elaborated. "Jane was Hermione's imaginary friend. I guess a week ago Jane told Hermione she had to go away. It broke her heart. But you know how kids are—they bounce back."

Silence fell over them. James shared a look with Lily. So Hermione had been more active than he'd thought. Looking at the Grangers, James wondered if he should tell them that the Hermione Granger who killed Voldemort, Jane, and their daughter were all the same person. Perhaps later, when they were a little more accustomed to the wizarding world. Baby steps.

"You dropped this, Sir," a voice, hauntingly familiar, said. James felt his heart skip a beat. Behind him, Peter made a strangled sound. There standing beside Darren, was a girl of medium height, with wild brown curls, light brown eyes, and scar splicing her eyebrow in two. In her hand, she held a worn leather wallet.

"Thank you, Miss," he said, taking the wallet from her with a smile. She smiled briefly back before turning away and walking towards the train amidst a few stragglers—Molly Weasley seemed reluctant to let Ron go. "Sweet girl," Darren said to his wife. "Honest, too. I didn't even know I'd dropped it!"

Just as Hermione set foot on the train, she vanished. Her message was clear. Whether the kids could see her or not, she would be watching. James felt relief wash over him. Harry would be safe. And it seemed that, once again, he'd missed the opportunity to thank her for all she'd done—and was doing.

________

A/N: Ah! Yes, I know, I'm terrible. Hopefully I will be able to finish this story in a timely manner. Only two chapters left, then I have a series of one-shots set in this universe that I can write/post, if you'd like.

I actually wasn't going to post this. I hate the time skip. I feel it was too abrupt. It bothers me. A lot. But CordeliaHalliwell assured me it was good. If you hate the transition, I'm sorry.

Well, I hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading, and please review.

Cheers,

Madm_05


	4. Inversion

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of other characters in this story.

Many Thanks

Part Four: Inversion

James Potter watched the scene carefully. The Great Hall at Hogwarts was decorated beautifully. There was a light dusting of snow on nearly every flat surface. Garland decorated the walls, mistletoe floated over head, banners hung over the tables, and large, handsomely designed bulbs of every color adorned a large evergreen. It was truly a breathtaking sight.

James, however, was not paying very much attention to the decorations. If anyone asked, he was only doing his job as a volunteer chaperone by dutifully watching the wee witches and wizards dance and pretend they were all grown up. And part of him was doing just that, even if he doubted what these kids were doing actually qualified as dancing. He could show them how to dance, if he didn't have other, more pressing, matters that required his attention.

It was Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts, and he was currently standing (James thought it looked more like he was moping) by the refreshment table, his eyes on the dance floor. More specifically, his eyes were on a witch on the dance floor. Hermione Granger, to be precise.

James had to admit, she did look lovely that evening. He was very proud of that fact, and mortally offended every time a young man other than his son looked her way—his paternal instincts were kicking into overdrive. It annoyed him that so many students had openly criticized Hermione's appearance for years, but now gaped at her, surprised that she could be as pretty as any of them. No, her compassion made her far lovelier than they, he decided.

But Hermione's appearance—and her sudden appeal to the male species—was not his main concern at the moment. No, that dubious honor went to his son's plight.

The Yule Ball was an age old tradition deeply entwined with the Triwizard Tournament, which was the cause of Harry's current predicament. When the students learned about the Ball, many had made plans on who to ask as their dates, Harry among them. By the time he worked up the nerve to actually ask Hermione to go with him—just as friends, Harry swore fervently—the witch was already taken by the Durmstrang champion, Viktor Krum.

Her date's identity she had chosen to keep a secret, claiming she didn't want to be teased. James suspected that, while that was part of it, Hermione also kept it a secret for the shock value. Krum had been the last Champion to enter, following the Diggory lad and the Delacour girl (it pleased James immensely that his son was not among the champions and, therefore, not in danger) for the opening dance. The Malfoy heir had choked on his drink when she'd walked out, Krum (with his Snape-ish nose) decorating her arm.

So now Hermione was on the dance floor, smiling and laughing with Viktor while they danced, and Harry was standing on the sidelines, dateless, confused, and more than a little angry. In short, Harry was moping. This was quite unlike him.

James knew that his boy could have found a date if he had wanted one. Harry was very popular, and considered quite the heartthrob by many of the other students. Lily often gave testament to this fact, telling amusing tales about how some girls wrote Harry's name in little hearts in the corners of their assignments. When Harry had enquired about Hermione's papers, he was crestfallen to find she was not among his swarm of fans. Her papers, Lily declared, were always very precise and professional, never wandering off topic—and there were never doodles in the margin. Harry had promptly muttered about not caring what her papers looked like.

No, he was alone by choice, because the witch he wanted was dancing with another wizard.

James turned his attention Hermione. If he didn't know she was a Gryffindor, he'd have thought she was a Ravenclaw. Her dress robes were a deep, navy blue with silver trim. Coupled with her nervous smile, there was no one more charming. This only made it more annoying when boys looked at the witch he looked at as a daughter.

There had been quite the debate between a set of periwinkle robes and the navy robes she now wore. Lily and Samantha had become fast friends, and often enjoyed shopping trips together during the summer holiday. James clearly remembered spending nearly four hours with Harry staring at a wall in Madam Malkin's shop, waiting on Lily and Samantha to pick out Hermione's robes. Hermione wisely brought a book along and let the two mothers battle it out while she read. She had been kind enough to let Harry read over her shoulder, something she had swatted Ron Weasely over just a few days before. That sort of thing happened all the time. James dubbed it a 'Harry privilege'.

And now she was dancing in her navy robes, with that charming, nervous smile of hers. Krum looked pleased with himself as he spun her around and continued to navigate the other couples around them. If James were to be fair, and look at them objectively, they were a handsome couple. But he wasn't objective, and while he was sure Krum was a decent sort, he wanted Hermione for his own son. Though he had grown in many ways, James knew that he was still a selfish man in other respects.

Deciding that enough was enough, James went over to the table where Harry stood. Silently, he clasped his son's shoulder and nodded to an unoccupied corner of the room. Nodding his understanding, Harry sluggishly walked over, his feet dragging. Personally, James thought Harry was being a bit dramatic, but he wouldn't hold it against him—he'd had a flair for the dramatic himself as that age. He'd been much louder, though.

"How do you feel, Son?" James looked at Harry, watching him closely. He knew Harry well enough by now to know when he was lying, and at that moment, he wanted the truth.

Harry shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable under his father's steady gaze. "I'm fine," he muttered.

"Don't lie, Harry, it's not very becoming of a young man such as yourself," James replied easily, but firmly.

Harry sighed in annoyance, and glared briefly at Krum before turning back to his father. "I… suppose… I'm jealous. I want to be the one dancing with her. I want to be the one making her laugh and smile." Harry's face turned a little red. "It's not right. He's so much older than her. And he's famous. He's probably always got girls just _throwing_ themselves at him, and I bet he thinks Hermione will give him what he wants just because he's an international Quidditch star, that prat!" Harry was panting a little by the end of his rant.

James was impressed with Harry's accurate observations. Krum was rumored to have quite a way with the ladies. It wasn't certain, but it was possible that Krum did have only one thing on his mind, and it wasn't a night of dancing ending with a peck on the cheek. It was part of the reason that he objected to Hermione attending the dance with him—the rest of the reason being that he felt she should attend with her best friend, Harry Potter.

"But at the same time," Harry began speaking again. "I want her to be happy. I don't want to make her night miserable, you know? If she's having fun with Viktor the Bungling Bulgarian over there, I don't want to ruin it for her. She's been working hard so that she can be ready for OWLs next year. She's been really stressed. I haven't seen her this relaxed in a long time. Maybe she is right. Maybe he is a decent guy," he said, all of the heat gone.

"I think he might be better for her, anyways," Harry sighed, looking even more miserable than before. "She said that when he asked her, he said he liked that she wasn't some brainless twit that was following him around, hoping for an autograph. Or something like that. He's famous, and he's rich, and he's smart. He's got to be smart, right? He's a champion. And he knows she's smart. And he can make her relax. He's probably better for her than I am. Does that make sense?" He looked almost desperately at his father.

"More than you know Harry, more than you know." James sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. His son's tale rang too true. It was too familiar. "I'm going to tell you something, Harry, something I've never really told anyone, not even your mother. It's not going to make sense at first, but you'll understand by the end. You listening? Good.

"Years ago, when I was in my fifth year, Hermione Granger arrived here at Hogwarts. You know that. Everyone does. What most people do _not_ know is that I found her, your Uncles and me. We were there when she… portkeyed into the dungeons. She'd been fighting Voldemort's Death Eaters and was in pretty bad shape. When I say bad shape, Harry, I mean she was dying. I mean if that Dumbledore had taken much longer, she could have died a lot sooner than she did.

"I stayed with her, I held her, while the others went for help." James was silent for a moment. He suppressed a shudder, remembering the slick feel of her blood on his hands even after so many years. "I held her while she babbled at me, thinking I was someone else, someone she loved.

"The whole point of this little tale is to prove to you that I knew Hermione better than I ever let on. Truth is, I know everything about her. I know what her ambitions were, and I know what she feared. I know what she loved—I know _who_ she loved. And I know what she did in the name of love.

"You see, the Hermione Granger I knew was very much in love with a boy—we'll call him Harry." James watched Harry roll his eyes, but ignored it. "She was so in love with him, actually, that she was willing to do just about anything for him. She stood by him, even when no one else did. Even when the bloke that he named his best friend betrayed him, she stood by his side.

"She loved him so much that when she killed Voldemort, the only thing she could think of was him, that she'd made the world a better place for him. She died with him in her thoughts and his name on her lips—and I ought to know, as she died in my arms." Beside him, Harry was growing restless, but more needed to be said. "Don't misunderstand—this wasn't some fleeting fancy. Before she came to Hogwarts, Hermione had fought Voldemort for years. And all that fighting… it aged her. Her soul was older than most of the wizards in the Wizengamot. And—hardly anyone knows this—her Harry fought Voldemort too. They fought him together.

"Anyways, back to my story. Harry didn't care that she was in love with him. Or maybe, he just didn't notice. I'm not sure which would be worse. I can't help but wonder what was running through her mind when he didn't notice her devotion, if that is how it happened. You see, Harry was in love with another witch, and Hermione was willing to step back and let them be together because she wanted her Harry to be happy. She thought the other witch could make him happier than she could.

"This other witch was very beautiful, as I understand, and very popular, and she liked Harry because he was a powerful wizard, and he was very popular too. Hermione thought Harry and the other witch were equals. She thought the other witch was _better_ for him." James stopped and looked at his son. Realization was beginning to dawn in Harry's eyes.

"Now I'm going to tell you something, Harry, and this is very important, so listen carefully. Hermione Granger, for all that she was a hero, was a fool." Harry's eyes widened in shock. James continued before the boy could argue. "She was a great witch. She was very brave, her and her selfless act may have saved us all—in fact I'm sure they did—but that doesn't change that she was a fool. Do you know why?" James didn't give him time to answer.

"She had love in the palm of her hand, and she let it slip through her fingers. When the wizard she was in love with chose someone else, she was silent. She didn't try to break them up, which was rather noble—lesser witches have tried to do such things. But she didn't say anything to him, other than that she was happy for him. She did nothing. She didn't confess her love.

"And you know? I think her Harry was blissfully happy with his witch, even if Hermione was miserable." James chuckled darkly. "In some ways, she's a better person than anyone I've ever met. Not many people are willing to sacrifice their happiness for someone else. She was _selfless_.

"But me? I'm selfish. I admit it. When I was younger, I fell in love with your mum, and I let the whole world know. I told her everyday, no matter how much it annoyed her. I did everything I could to make sure she knew I existed. I made sure she knew she always had a choice—that I wanted her."

Harry looked up, understanding in his innocent, emerald eyes. "A choice. Hermione never gave that bloke a choice, did she? If he never knew how she felt, he never had the chance to think of her that way."

James nodded in satisfaction. "Selflessness, Harry, can be a tragic flaw. Do you know what that is?" Harry shook his head. "It is a personality trait that causes someone's downfall. You see that sort of thing a lot in Shakespeare's plays. Hermione was selfless, Harry. That was why she died."

"I thought there was a prophecy," Harry interrupted. "That's how the story goes. Voldemort was talking to everyone about a prophecy, that their lives were bound together."

James shook his head. "I went to the Ministry a few years ago. I wanted to see this prophecy that cost the world one of its greatest treasure. They have a record of all of the prophecies. I never found _one_ related to her in any way. As best I can figure, it was a fake. I don't know who made it—maybe it was Voldemort himself, as a reason to get his hands on her, but it wasn't real. _That_ little fact is a closely guarded secret in the Ministry." Harry stood in a shocked silence. "So really," he said quietly. "She didn't _need_ to die. She _let_ herself die because she didn't think there was a reason for her to live.

"But that's not the point, Harry. The point that I'm trying to make you understand is that life is full of choices, but a person can only make the truly correct choice if they know all of the options. Now, you've got a witch out there on that dance floor who could choose to dance the rest of the night away in your arms, but she can only make that choice if she knows the option is there, if she knows you're a willing partner."

Harry nodded. "So I… I should ask her to dance?"

"At the very least," James replied. Personally, James knew that if Lily was on that floor with someone else, he'd just go up and kiss her. Harry was too bashful for that, so dancing it would have to be.

Harry nodded again, looking down at his shoes. Then, straightening his back, he turned sharply and walked out onto the dance floor. He cut through all of the other couples as if they weren't there. It looked like the Malfoy sneered something, but Harry apparently didn't notice as he never broke the rhythm of his stride. With a single-minded determination, Harry approached Hermione and Krum.

James could not hear what they were saying, but then, he didn't need to hear anything. Harry held himself stiffly as he exchanged words with Krum, who was frowning. James smirked as he watched the boys talk. Harry occasionally turned to Hermione, but Krum continued to watch Harry. James knew that was a mistake; Hermione hated it when anyone talked around her, but not to her. He had a feeling Hermione would be spending the rest of her evening with Harry. That was immensely satisfying.

Pretending to be responsible, he glanced around. There was Snape, a guest chaperone, much like himself. Snape usually only taught an advanced course for aspiring aurors on potions they may run across in the field, and only on Fridays. Snape was dancing with his wife—James didn't really know who she was. He'd never seen her, though, so he didn't think she was from Hogwarts. He would have to ask Lily; she was on speaking terms with Snape.

Peter was walking to Poppy Pomfrey. They seemed to be discussing different healing techniques. Perhaps debating was a better word? The two were clearly in disagreement over whatever they were talking about. Poppy's face was very red, so it looked like she was losing.

His eyes continued to travel. Hagrid walked by. He was holding his wand—Oak, fourteen inches, unicorn hair—proudly. He was very proud of his wand, and prouder still of his ability to cast spells. The spells he could cast tended to deal more with animals, but his skill set increased everyday. Just then, he was showing off for Madame Maxime.

Smiling, James continued to look around. Ah, there was the witch he was looking for. Lily. She was resplendent in her emerald robes. It went wonderfully with her red hair. It was very appropriate, considering the holiday. James arrogantly thought that no other witch could pull that off quite like his Lily. Suddenly he was eager for the night to end so he could spend some quality time alone with his wife. Alas, the Ball would continue for at least another two hours, and then he would have to patrol the halls and look for errant couples.

He looked back at Harry, just to see how he was faring. Hermione's face was red, and her eyes were narrowed. That, coupled with the set of her jaw, was never a good sign. She was angry. He smiled, ready to watch the sparks fly. Hermione didn't disappoint. Whatever she said shocked Viktor so much that he didn't move even a little when Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him away. Harry had a wide, triumphant grin on his face.

James resumed his duties, occasionally looking over at Harry and Hermione. They talked for a little while and eventually—thankfully—moved to the dance floor. After watching them dance three dances in a row and begin a fourth, James felt it was safe to move on.

He caught the Weasley twins before they could spike the punch with what was most likely their latest invention. When they didn't move very far from the table, James decided it would be best to guard the refreshments. He looked up, and saw Harry and Hermione dancing, talking softly with one another, their faces close. He wondered if they would kiss. Knowing them, probably not. Hermione wasn't the sort for public displays of affection, and Harry would be too nervous this early in their fledgling relationship.

It didn't matter really. Everything was going well. It looked like Harry and Hermione would be dating before long. He hadn't felt so pleased with himself since the last time he'd won a case against the Wizengamot elders. He just loved beating those dusty old men at their own game, but this was even better.

Sighing in contentment, he decided to quit pretending he was a responsible adult when he wasn't at the Ministry. No one really expected him to keep track of anyone anyways. And beside, he thought that whatever the Weasley twins had planned was going to be hilarious. Who was he to stand in the way of their genius?

Just as he was planning to steal Lily away for a romantic walk in the gardens, something caught his eye. There, her back against the far wall, was Hermione Granger. Her dress robes were periwinkle, and if memory served, they were the same robes the living Hermione had opted not to wear.

James smiled grimly to himself. After all this time, she was still there, watching and protecting. His smile faded. He wondered, distantly, if she would ever rest. He moved towards her, wanting to speak with her just one more time. Then Harry was there, Hermione in his arms as he led her gracefully through the steps on the dance floor. James smiled at them. A moment later, Harry and Hermione were gone—and so was Hermione Granger.

James sighed—he really should have known better. She seemed to pop up every now and again, just to remind him she was still there, but she never remained long enough for him to talk to her. He shoved his hands in his pockets. At this rate, he would never get to thank her for all that she had done, both for him and for his family, until he, too, entered the afterlife. He frowned at the thought.

He looked up and saw Lily walking towards him, a dazzling smile on her face. James felt the tension leave his body. As he swept Lily away in a dance, he pushed the thought away. Hermione would be back again, he could feel it. He could thank her then.

————

The relationship between Harry and Hermione had evolved a great deal, since the Yule Ball. Only a few months had passed, but the two were closer than ever. Sirius, Remus and Peter were placing bets on when Hermione would pull her nose out of her books and just kiss the boy.

Peter won—Hermione had nervously kissed Harry on the cheek after the end of their fourth year before running off to find her parents. Harry swaggered around for the rest of the day with rosy cheeks and a self-satisfied smile. Peter smugly collected his winnings from Sirius and Remus, while the Potters and Grangers, sans Hermione, looked on. James was sure they would become an official couple any day now. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

Despite how much he wanted them to actually 'get together', he had another, more immediate concern. The Grangers were over, and he needed to talk to them while Harry and Hermione were walking around the garden. Having talked it over with Lily, James decided it was time to tell them.

It was James, Lily and Peter. James and Peter because they knew the time-traveler, and Lily because James needed the support. It was far more difficult than he had ever imagined it would be, now that he actually knew the Hermione of this time.

James peaked out the window. Harry was explaining something, probably a Quidditch move, and Hermione was feigning interest. Harry suddenly looked at her his cheeks reddening and muttered something. Hermione laughed in reply, a rich sound that reminded him of that time in the library.

"Hermione seemed completely surprised that the Beauxbaton girl won that Tournament. Apparently, she hadn't fared very well in the earlier trials, but somehow managed to pull of a rather spectacular win," Samantha was saying.

"Yes, I believe everyone thought the race was down the two boys, ah, Crummy and Digger, I think," Darren added.

"Krum and Diggory," Lily corrected gently, her tone amused. James, bored, watched Harry give Hermione a flower he had just picked and almost smacked his forehead—didn't Harry know that was a weed? Merlin's beard, what was the boy doing in his Herbology class? Hermione blushed all the same and accepted his gift. "And yes, it was quite a surprising win. I guess it just shows that there was more to the girl than everyone thought. Everyone does seem to believe it was a fluke though."

"Everyone has moments of glory, just as everyone has moments of failure," Darren said. "You cannot judge a person based on such moments because they are so fleeting. If the girl was selected as a Champion, she must be a talented witch, or someone else would have been chosen in her stead. Maybe she was just nervous—I know I was always top of my class until the time came for oral presentations, then I'd just clam up." He shrugged. "Nerves can wreck your performance in anything."

Samantha rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Darren, you don't need to lecture them and quote arcane philosophers."

Darren frowned. "I wasn't quoting anybody," he muttered.

"You can be such a child at times," Samantha said affectionately.

"I feel the same way about James," Lily replied.

"I feel the same way about myself," Peter added, nodding sagely, earning a few chuckles.

"Now, James, what was it you wanted to talk to us about? You sounded so serious earlier," Samantha asked, turning her attention to him.

James took a breath, looked at Peter and Lily and began to talk. The words came slowly at first, but then came faster. It helped when Peter and Lily offered little snippets of information. Together, the trio told the couple about the Hermione Granger who traveled through time. He even presented them with the photo of Harry, Hermione and Ron.

At first, James only told them as much as he'd told the others years before they met the younger Hermione at Kings Cross. Then he went on to explain some—but not all—of her activities, culminating in her death. He even explained the prophecy to them, but did not tell them it was fake; he did not want to see how they would react to learning their daughter from another timeline might have just let herself die without reason. Samantha already looked faint, and Darren—kind, peaceful Darren—looked thunderous.

After explaining her death, the others explained her life. He talked about how she would tutor students on Sundays, and always met with him in private on Thursdays. His words were soft, gentle, and warm. James recognized it as the voice he used when he needed to heal a frightened child.

"How do we know this isn't all fake?" Darren demanded, a note of desperation in his voice.

"The photo has not been messed with," Lily promised. "It is legitimate. We all have memories you can view, if you would like. But really, you don't need to do that. You've already seen her Phantom."

"Phantom," Samantha said softly, eyes distant."

Peter was nodded. "A phantom is what happens when a person dies and they have unfinished business. They stick around until it is finished."

"Like a ghost?"

James shook his head. "A ghost can never leave. They were people who feared death, so they cling to un-life. Phantoms can leave when they wish."

"And we've seen her? When?"

"Back with the kids were in first year," Peter said. "At Kings Cross."

Silence.

"She was the girl who handed you your wallet, Darren," James said.

"But she had a scar," he said numbly. "My Hermione doesn't have a scar."

"Nor will she," James quickly promised. "This was a different world. Hermione got that scar in a fight just before she came to our time. This Hermione will not have to fight in a war, because that war has already been won. She doesn't have to be a warrior; she can be whatever she wants."

Darren picked up the photo, looking at the familiar strangers. He shook his head and looked out the window. James turned to look as well. The two fathers watched their children walk, Hermione still holding the week Harry had given her, laughing while Harry enthusiastically reenacted some funny story. Their wives came up beside them. Darren pulled Samantha close while James slipped his hand into Lily's. Peter stood between the couples, also watching

"I guess we have a lot to be thankful for, don't we?" Darren said at last.

"Indeed we do," James said, nodding. "Indeed we do."

________

A/N: Okay, I'll admit, I wanted to save this one for Christmas because it has stuff to do with the Yule Ball. However, it seems someone wrote a letter to Santa and asked for an update, and Santa came all the way to my house and told me if I didn't update, he'd put me on the Naughty List. I didn't think it was very fair of him, but I'm not really in a position to argue, now am I? I should have the conclusion up on Christmas Day, barring unforeseen disasters. After that, I may (or may not) post the one-shot called Closure that I've been working on. Still undecided.

After that I have to choose between the one-shots for this story (which will explain a lot of what has been happing, since James is only one guy), and Time, Interrupted. Ugh, decisions. Nothing is every abandoned in my world, it just takes a while to update.

Regardless, I wish you all a Merry Christmas (or Happy Hanukah), a Harry New Year, and Happy Valentines Day (hey, there Christmas shows on TV before Halloween, I have no doubt that they'll be playing valentines movies by New Years).

Cheers,

Madm_05


	5. Family

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of other characters in this story.

Many Thanks

Part Five: Family

James Potter inhaled deeply, contently. It was beautiful. Breathtaking, really. It was cloudy out, but shafts of sunlight shone through the openings, giving the courtyard an almost ethereal look. Other than the occasional gentle breeze, the air was still. Not far away a grand bonfire burned, a staple of a wizarding wedding. Yes, it was a lovely, memorable day.

August 11th was a day to be remembered in the Potter family, especially since it had just grown. Not ten minutes ago, Harry James Potter had taken Hermione Jane Granger as his wife, and James couldn't think of a better daughter-in-law. The newlyweds stood off the side. They chatted comfortably with Headmaster Dumbledore, who sportingly let them hold their wedding on Hogwarts Grounds. In fact, he'd even suggested it to them when Harry proposed to Hermione at the Leaving Feast their final year. He'd insisted.

Albus always did have a twisted fondness for irony, and the fact that Hermione Granger's memorial was a stone's throw away was nothing short of ironic.

James had wanted any other place, feeling that a wedding there, in view of the marble obelisk, was cruelty to the dead. Or maybe it wasn't cruelty. Perhaps it was a way to grant her wish. The time traveler had loved Harry enough to die for him, and now her counterpart was his wife. That was a more positive thought. Yes, he preferred that notion much more. He didn't want to think Albus was the sort to thumb his nose at the dead.

The Grangers were there too. They had become quite close to the Potters, and were unsurprised at Harry and Hermione's engagement. They were thrilled, actually. They adored Harry. They'd liked him from the moment he decided he would marry Hermione on the platform when they'd first met. They'd grown to love him as they realized he was a wonderful friend to their daughter—the many letters Hermione wrote about him bore testament to that.

Everyone had watched the relationship evolve over the last several years. The Granger's watched in amusement as their socially inept daughter attempted to interact with Harry. The Potters watched in amusement as their easy-going son tried to woo a girl who'd rather be reading. Both families had been relieved that summer day following their fourth year when they finally became a couple.

At that moment, however, Darren, had his arms wrapped around Samantha, who was staring at the obelisk with something akin to dread. She'd been wary since she'd arrived. The poor woman couldn't take her eyes away from it for more than a moment; occasionally her eyes would dart away, as if she'd seen the phantom and wanted to get a better look. James was sure Samantha was only imagining things—Hermione didn't seem the sort to taunt her mother in such a cruel manner—but he didn't feel it was his place to say anything to her.

It had been particularly painful for them to learn that the girl who had given Darren his wallet at the train station all those years ago was Hermione. They had been numb at first, but when the realization sank in they were mortified. Neither could believe that they did not recognize their own daughter when she'd stood before them. On some level, James thought they hated themselves for dismissing her so easily.

James could understand that. He'd hated himself for a long time for dismissing Hermione so easily before she'd died in his arms, thinking of his then-unborn son. She'd been working for a better world, and he'd been more concerned about his own perceived greatness. Yes, he understood the horror they felt at dismissing her without a thought.

Since that time, both Samantha and Darren spent more time with and showed more affection to their daughter, much to Hermione's confusion. During one of their many chats, James had learned from Darren that they didn't get to spend much time with Hermione when she was younger, since they were always working and she was always studying. While they loved her very much, they didn't get to express it as much or as often as they wanted. Now they _made_ time. Hermione didn't seem to understand the sudden change in her parents, but she didn't object to it, either. From Samantha's descriptions, Hermione appeared to enjoy their newfound closeness.

Not far away, the Snape family stood, talking amicably with the Weasleys in attendance. Just as Peter was far from being the fiendish traitor, so Severus had also become a good man. He was brilliant as Potions Masters went, and had made many ground-breaking discoveries. His potions course was surprisingly popular, and many students who didn't need it took it anyways. Harry had taken the course in preparation for his auror training and said that, though very strict, Professor Snape was a capable teacher.

His wife, Miranda, was an intellectual giant among the Muggle community. She was a literature professor at some big name Muggle University. They were perfect for each other, and their two children were both bookworms.

What Severus lacked in cheerfulness, Hermione Snape made up for in spades. The other man had been mortified when his daughter was sorted into Hufflepuff. She was warm, outgoing, but also bookish, hardworking, honest, and loyal to a fault. Come her fifth year, she would be a Prefect for sure, and was one of the top candidates for Head Girl for her year. Pomona Sprout hadn't been this excited about one of her students since Cedric Diggory.

Elijah, on the other hand, was very intelligent, but seemed to lose his voice whenever any girl other than his mother, sister, or his Aunty Lily was near. At the moment, he stood stiffly beside his mother, his eyes flickering about nervously. He was a good kid, though, so James didn't hold his father against him.

The Snape family had come over to dine a at the Potter residence once, and had gotten along with the Grangers quite well. As a result, the three families now took turns hosting holiday dinners. They quite close anymore. James and Lily were Hermione's godparents, and Samantha and Darren were Elijah's.

He doubted he would ever be friends with Severus—there was too much animosity in the past—but the two of them had come to an uneasy sort of truce. It had taken years to build, and it was shaky at best, forged only by the memory of Hermione Granger, and maintained by Lily's mediation, but it was there. James was certain he was only Hermione's godfather because Lily was her godmother. Regardless, Snape seemed to genuinely like the Grangers, and even seemed fond of Harry.

Just then the couple of the hour approached him. "Hey Dad," Harry said with a wide grin. He smile was infectious, and James found himself smiling in response.

"Hello Mr. Potter," Hermione added warmly.

James gave an exaggerated grimace. "Mr. Potter, Hermione? We're family now, must you be so terribly formal?" He sighed loudly. "If you insist on formalities, then I shall have to address you as Mrs. Potter—very tricky indeed, as it may confuse the other Mrs. Potter!"

A faint blush stained her cheeks as she smiled abashedly. "I'm sorry Mr…James?"

He laughed. "Mr. James is still a little formal, but it will do, I suppose. Keep in mind though, I'm not adverse to being called Dad, though." His grin faded a little. "So what can I do for you two? I would have thought you'd have slipped away for a little _private time_ by now." He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione's blush deepened.

Harry was unfazed. He was long since used to his father's antics. "There are a few people from the Ministry looking for you," he said, narrowing his eyes. "Apparently they don't care that you're attending your son's wedding."

James snorted. "That's Ministry politics, isn't it? Well, what do they want now?"

"They want to talk to you about your latest proposal concerning the prevention of House-elf abuse," Hermione replied. There was a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. She bounced a little on her heels, anxious for his response.

James chuckled affectionately at her enthusiasm. "Well, I guess I'll just have to tell them to wait for about two weeks, won't I?"

"Two weeks?" Hermione asked softly, sounding more than a little crestfallen. "Why so long, Mr. Po—James?"

"Yeah Dad," Harry added with a frown. "You're usually the one to hunt _them_ down and try and corner them, not the other way around. Why the change?" Harry wrapped his arms around her waist and she immediately stilled, a small smile forming on her lips as she looked up at him. Harry grinned down at her then looked at his father expectantly.

"Well," James said slowly, drawing it out before finally answering. "I figure I'm going to need about two weeks since that's how long you two have planned to take for your honeymoon."

A knowing smile began to appear on Harry's face, but Hermione didn't seem to understand. "What does our honeymoon have to do with you meeting with the councilmen?" She seemed almost offended that her honeymoon was getting in the way of House-elf safety. How charming.

"Because I want you there, Hermione," James answered easily. "I think you have what it takes to be a social engineer, as Lily—you know, the other Mrs. Potter—likes to call it."

She looked started for a moment before gasping. "But Mr. Potter," Hermione said, wringing her hands. "I can't! There's simply no way the members of the Wizengamot will listen to me! I'm just a Newblood, I—"

"No," James interrupted firmly. "You're not _just a Newblood_, Hermione. I never want to hear you say something like that again, you understand? You're brilliant, and you should never believe otherwise. I can think of no other witch more capable of taking on those old goats running the Wizengamot."

She stood in a stunned silence, her eyes wide.

Harry nodded in approval. "That's what I thought you'd say. I was hoping you would choose her. I know that Charlie talked about continuing your quest for equality, but I think he only said that because he felt someone in the family needed to carry on the tradition since I want to be an auror. My Hermione has the same passion for righting wrongs that you do, Dad." He smiled. "I think it's a good match."

"So glad you approve, Harry," James said with a grin.

"Besides, Hermione, you wanted to go into Law anyways, didn't you? I'm pretty sure you were planning on wading through dusty textbooks about laws no one knows even exist anymore. This is exactly what you wanted to do in the long run, right? Dad will just help you get going a little sooner than you thought, that's all," Harry said, kissing her lightly on the cheek, catching the corner of her mouth.

A loud whizzing and bang sounded off to the side of the reception area. The Weasley twins were doing what they do best—wreaking havoc. Fireworks spelled out lewd limericks in the sky, courtesy of one of their more recent products. They weren't on the market just yet, as the twins had yet to name them, but they were not above setting them off at large gatherings. James nodded proudly, sure they would be a big hit. Those twins would have made fine Marauders.

Nearby, Sirius was choking, red punch dribbling down his chin as he stared up at one of the naughtier limericks, grinning wildly. Peter's daughter was pointing at limerick pertaining to a pirate named Gates, laughing merrily, while Peter was trying to cover her eyes. Elijah's face turned an entirely new shade of red before he ducked behind his mother, eyes wide.

"Fred and George Weasley!" Molly Weasley shrieked. The Weasley Matriarch began her tirade, lecturing her wayward sons. The twins had the decency (and the skill) to look properly ashamed with their deeds. James didn't doubt for a moment that the two were not half as ashamed as they pretended.

Hermione sighed. "I knew something like this would happen. At least they waited until after the wedding."

Behind her, Harry chuckled. "I think Ron and I have been a bad influence on you, Love. A few years ago, you would be standing beside Mrs. Weasley, yelling right along!"

Hermione sniffed superiorly. "Hardly. I wouldn't bother wasting my energy." She gave him a sly look. "I would have enjoyed listening, though."

"And now?"

Hermione grinned wickedly and pointed to the limerick about the pirate Gates. "That one's my favorite." Harry laughed, and soon Hermione joined in. He pulled her closer to him, his smile growing as they looked at each other.

James watched, taking in the moment, and marveling at how this world was so different from the other. Here, neither his son, nor his daughter-in-law bore battle scars. Neither had spent months living in the forest, rationing their food. They hadn't faced basilisks, Death Eaters, or dementors. They hadn't freed a wrongfully convicted criminal (though they had, along with Ron, saved a wrongfully condemned hippogriff).

No, theirs was a very different life. Hermione studied in the stands while Harry was at Quidditch practice. Harry smuggled snacks into the library when Hermione forgot to stop studying long enough to eat. They sat beside each other while they did homework. Sometimes Harry would watch Hermione try to badger Ron into doing his own. It was the sort of thing James had done in his school years. It was what children did on the way to adulthood. .

They were not soldiers.

In this world, with Voldemort dead and gone years before either of them were born, and so they did what they were meant to do. They laughed and pulled pranks. They snuck out after hours to raid the kitchens. Sometimes the boys got caught (something that never happened when they were with Hermione) and wound up in detention. The boys played Quidditch and Hermione watched cheered for them from the stands when she wasn't reading. They had been children, and that, James felt, made all the difference.

"Dad?" Harry asked, drawing James from his thoughts.

"Hm? Oh. Anyways," he said, looking back to his daughter-in-law. "Hermione, you have what it takes. Don't you remember all of the chats we've had when you came to visit with Harry? You came up with quite a few arguments that I used when I was presenting my case before the Wizengamot."

Hermione looked like she didn't quite believe what he'd told her. "He really did, Love," Harry said. "Dad let me go with him a few times so I could see how the Wizengamot worked. I remembered some of the stuff you two had talked about, and he used some of your arguments. They listened, too, and took them into consideration when they were rewriting some of the old laws."

"Yep," James agreed. "You helped a lot. I know you've read most of the books in the Hogwarts library, including the books on history, magical laws and rights, and the like. You've got the smarts, the drive, _and_," he smirked. "I _know_ you've got the brass for it."

Harry laughed while Hermione blushed again. James shook his head in amazement. How different the two Hermione's were! He supposed that the events around people really do shape them. _This_ Hermione was much more bashful than her counterpart. Then again, having never faced the forces of darkness, James guessed that, while their priorities were the same, their methodologies would naturally be different.

"That said, you two had better move along. You have other guests to thank, kisses to steal, kids to traumatize with your inappropriate behavior, the list goes on." James winked. "You two have fun."

"He's right, Love. We do have kids to traumatize. Let's go find a dark corner!"

"Oh Harry!"

With that, the two walked off, gently teasing one another, leaving James alone with his thoughts and memories.

For want of something to do, he wandered over to one of the tables set up. James sighed in contentment and looked at the collection of photographs on the table near the refreshments. This had been Neville's doing. James suspected that Neville had gotten the photos from a younger student named Colin Creevey who was forever taking pictures of anything that would hold still long enough, and even some things that wouldn't.

There were dozens of pictures, each spelled to stay in it's place in case of a sudden wind. Some were of Harry, some were of Hermione, most were of them together. There were group photos, too. One had all of the Gryffindors, from first to seventh year. Another, taken in their fifth year, was of all the Gryffindors in their year (James was amused to see Hermione looked more than a little frazzled with OWLs coming up).

His favorite, though, was taken at the end of Harry's third year, in the Spring of '94. He stood between Hermione and Ron. All three of them were smiling and waving merrily. It was much like another picture he was familiar with, but in this moment frozen in time, Harry bore no scar, his face was less gaunt, and his eyes were less wary. It was a good picture. He decided that when this was all said and done, he would have this picture blown up and framed. It would look good in his family room. Neither Harry nor Hermione would understand his appreciation for the photo, but Lily, the Grangers, and his fellow Marauders would.

James felt his skin tingle—he was being watched. He looked around as casually as he could, looking for anything suspicious.

And there she was.

Standing beside her own Memorial was Hermione Granger. Or rather, her Phantom. She wore the plain casual robes she'd been wearing when she died in the Three Broomsticks, her wild curls unmoved by the slight breeze that ruffled his robes. He could even see her scar. Her expression, so grim in his memories, was now one of happiness. She smiled knowingly at him, and bowed her head.

Always quick, James realized that she was thanking him for all that he had done, for continuing what she had started all those years ago. "No," he whispered to the wind. "Thank _you_."

In the blink of an eye, she was gone.

He wondered if this would be last anyone would ever see of Hermione Granger. Her greatest ambition had been met—the world was on the right track, and Harry Potter was leading a good life. Above all else, seeing her beloved happy was her greatest desire, and now it was so. Harry Potter would no doubt become one of the greatest aurors in the history of the magical world, and Hermione would continue the abolition of unjust laws. The wizarding world was in good hands. Potter hands.

Would it be enough to let her rest in peace? Voldemort's death was not enough. Lily and himself living, loving, and raising Harry had not been enough. Would his wedding be enough? Or would she remain bound to this earth until Harry himself died? And what of Harry's children, would she stay for them? Her greatest ambition had been met, but her work was not done…

James knew, then, what he had to do to finish _his_ part of her work. There were so many loose ends, so many things that could go wrong. If there was one thing he had to do before he died, one thing that was more important than even House-elf rights, it was this last task that he _had_ to do.

Discretely, he pulled the journal and the photo out of his robes. He carried them with him always, fearing what would happen if Harry were to ever find them. He looked at the picture once more and smiled sadly. He ran his thumb over the picture, touching the faces of the Harry and Ron that never were, and the Hermione that died.

This future had died with Hermione, but these relics, these reminders of a ruined world, still remained. The journal and the picture were the last remaining remnants of that lost world that never should have been, and thankfully, would never be. It was long past time that they, too, faded away. They would simply be too dangerous if they ever fell into the wrong hands. Keeping them this long, even on his person, had been a mistake.

Tucking the picture into the little notebook, he tossed it onto the celebratory bonfire. He stood, watching the flames devour all that was left of the other world. That was it. He was nearly done. Hermione Potter would take up the task she was always meant to complete soon enough, and formulate her own plans. There was a particularly strong gust of wind, carrying what sounded like the laughter he'd heard only once, a long ago in the Hogwarts library.

Smiling, he turned back to his family, a spring in his step. They were all laughing and smiling. Remus was doting on his very pregnant wife. Sirius was alternating between plotting some prank with his son and glaring at his daughter's new would-be suitor. Peter was politely chatting with the parents of his own daughter's beau. Even Snape was enjoying himself, with his charming wife and their two children. Harry and Hermione were dancing, foreheads touching, lost in each other's eyes. And then there was Lily, who was watching him with a smile, patiently waiting for him to make his peace with the dead.

Everyone was happy, and for that he was thankful.

————

Four years later saw James Potter sitting calmly in an uncomfortable chair, watching the others. Lily sat beside him, book in hand. She didn't even seem to notice the others pacing back and forth in front of a door. On his other side sat the Grangers, who were going over reports from their dentistry. They didn't seem to notice the frantic pacing either. Occasionally Sirius would stop, look up at the door, sigh heavily, and begin pacing again. Remus would pace, stop, lean against the wall for a moment, then begin pacing again. Peter just paced nonstop, muttering under his breath.

Ron was there with his wife Luna. Luna, naturally, was chatting about fwibbles while Ron fidgeted beside her. Ginny was there reading a Quidditch magazine. Her fiancée, Neville, was sitting just as patiently beside her, reading an article on Herbology. Everyone had gathered.

James watched the pacing and fidgeting in amusement. If anyone in the room had the right to be nervous, it was him. It was his daughter-in-law giving birth behind that door. It was his son in there with her. It was his grandchild that was about to enter the world. Correction. If the wails of an infant were any indication, said grandchild had already entered the world, and had a healthy set of lungs.

Everyone turned to the door. Even Lily looked up from her book. James himself was looking around, waiting for Hermione Granger to walk by and vanish. He frowned. It had been a long time since she had shown herself. Normally she only popped up on momentous occasions, and this one more certainly a momentous occasion. He wondered where she could be. Perhaps, he thought, she really had moved on.

There was little time for pondering that, as a mediwitch had just announced they could enter. Peter was the first through the door—he had been immensely annoyed when he was forbidden entry before, on the grounds of conflicting interests. James followed at a more sedate pace, Lily beside him. Both were amused b their friends' antics.

Hermione, exhausted, cradled the newborn infant in her arms. Harry was behind her on the bed, his arms wrapped around her and their child.

"So," James began. "You want to share with us lowly commoners the name of the world's latest and greatest addition? It would be nice, since you haven't even told us if it is a boy or a girl."

"Jane," Harry said softly, proudly. "We named her Jane." He shared a knowing look with Hermione. For his part, James understood exactly what was going on. They were both honoring their first friend. Actions, after all, speak louder than words.

"Jane," he murmured with a nod. "That's a good name."

The others agreed with him, all of them understanding, just as he did. Then they began to argue over who got to hold little Jane. Ron argued that since he was the godfather he got to go first. Samantha insisted that it was her grandchild and that ladies should go first, leaving her to contend with just Lily. Sirius insisted that as Harry's godfather he had special privileges, so he should get to hold little Jane.

Deciding he wanted no part in all of that, James just walked over and held out his arms while the others argued. Hermione merely smirked in return, kissed the fussing baby, and handed her to James. He felt his chest puff out a bit with pride as he held her. This moment was a long time in coming.

A few hours later, when nearly everyone was gone, needing to go to work or just wanting to get something to eat, Peter declared that he wanted to give Hermione a post-natal checkup. James quickly volunteered to stay with little Jane for the few minutes Harry and Hermione had to step out. "You should go with Hermione, Harry. I'll look after the little one. Besides, Jane and I need to get to know each other a little better. You know, bond."

The two agreed, and James walked them to the door, closing it quietly behind them. Lily had opted to go with them so she could help reassure Hermione, having been through the process three times herself. It didn't matter to James; he wanted this little bit of time along. And there it was—the tingle he'd been waiting for. He turned slowly, unsurprised by what he found.

Hermione Granger looked down that the tiny infant in her arms with something akin to reverence. She looked up at James and gave him a proud, watery smile. Slowly, gently, she put the sleeping babe back in her bassinet, and slowly faded away.

It was different this time; he could feel it. Things had changed. James knew that she would not be returning after this. She could finally rest in peace.

He smiled.

Fin

________

The limerick Hermione Pettigrew read is as follows:

_There once was a pirate named Gates_

_Who thought he could rhumba on skates._

_He slipped on his cutlass _

_And now he is nutless_

_And practically useless on dates._

There is a real reason Hermione was able to leave after holding Jane. No, it has nothing to do with having a child. Hermione, Phantom or not, had unresolved issues, which have now been resolved. Those reasons? There are two big ones: Harry never recognizing her contributions, and her own inability to recognize her contributions. When Harry and her other self named the baby for her, even though it was her pseudonym, they were recognizing what she had done for them, and that allowed her to move on. I can explain it more in depth if needed.

Well, that's is for this story. After this, I have a one-shot I want to finish, a few one-shots in this universe (not sure if I'll post those) then it's back to Time, Interrupted. Thanks for reading!

Oh, and Merry Christmas! I waited until after midnight to post this, so that it would be a real gift.

Cheers,

Madm_05


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